


Rerum Non Potest Regere (Of Things We Cannot Control)

by omega12596



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Hawke fought her relationship with Fenris just as hard, or harder, than the ex-slave struggled with his own feelings? How might their relationship be different if it were Hawke, moreso than Fenris, who didn't know how to deal with what was happening between them? Who was terrified of all the things being loved and in love wrought in one's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This wasn’t inspired by a particular prompt, but rather a lack thereof. While there are several Fenris/Hawke pairings, a lot of the time they focus on Fenris, his dark backstory, and the path he travels to understand he _is_ worthy: of freedom, of hope, of love. And I love those stories, but I couldn’t help but wonder… what if Hawke suffered a lot of the same issues, what if s/he were as powerfully drawn to Fenris as he is to Hawke, if s/he struggled against a growing, consuming hunger for the angsty, Tevinter elf just as hard, maybe harder, than the elf himself tries to deal with his own feelings? How would that change the dynamic between the two, what would Fenris’ reaction be if he were privy to Hawke’s own turbulent feelings? How would that power shift change their relationship?
> 
> The majority of the tale will be canon; by that I mean Anders is host to Justice, Leandra dies, and Bethany goes to Deep Roads. All AU bits will mostly revolve around Hawke (the character is a F!Hawke who’s a rogue with mage talents – specifically chain lightning, tempest, and the entropy tree) and her relationships, especially with Fenris. As such, much of the story happens between acts/things we don’t see on screen (which aren’t by definition AU, necessarily, but as I’ll be creating them as they come, I felt it better to be safe than sorry). 
> 
> This story is non-beta'd so all errors are mine. Dragon Age is copywritten by Bioware, Corp. and its parent company EA.

“I don’t know who you are, friend. But you made a serious mistake coming here.”

The armored man with dark hair moved toward Hawke and her small group as he spoke. Narrowing her eyes, she was struck by two things simultaneously: his armor was emblazoned with a crest she didn’t recognize and he must have had poor eyesight, since he apparently missed the twenty-plus dead bodies scattered about the alienage.

“Perhaps you’d like to rethink your comment.” She shot a glance over her shoulder to Varric and the dwarf brought Bianca to his shoulder, ready for whatever came next.

“It seems to me neither he nor his men are paid to think.” Aveline, strong, sure, and ever direct, shifted her stance, balancing the large shield in her left hand, green eyes assessing, waiting, prepared.

“I think you’re right there, guardswoman.” Talyn Hawke couldn’t help but smirk, chuckling softly when Tabris, her loyal and ferocious Mabari barked in agreement.

The man reached the bottom of the steps, glaring at the slaughter before him. “Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing. Now!”

Hawke looked over the stranger’s shoulder, but saw nothing for several moments. Flicking her gaze back to the man, she lifted a brow. “Looks like you’re backup abandoned –“

Her comment was interrupted by the stagger of footsteps from above them. A man, similarly armored to the stranger, stumbled down the stairwell, blood pouring from wounds Talyn couldn’t see.

“Captain-“ The man spoke that single word before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Tabris cocked his head, ears perked forward, intent and Talyn tensed.

“Your men are dead.” A figure appeared from the shadows behind the dead man, his body encased in black, the only immediately distinguishable feature the brilliant shock of his star-white hair.

“And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.”

Talyn swallowed as the new arrival descended the steps, stopping between she and her people and the ‘captain’. So many impressions bombarded her, she struggled to categorize them fast enough, to not be caught unaware while she tried to figure out the newest player in the drama she found herself in this night.

He was an elf, his lithe stature, angular face, and pointed ears made that blatantly clear. But he was also marked, lines of intricate bluish white traced over most of the olive-toned skin she could see. The etchings weren’t of Dalish origin, they weren’t _vallaslin_. No, they were something altogether else. This close to him, she felt an odd frisson of power nip at her exposed fingers, but forced herself to ignore it, which proved easier said than done.

“You’re going nowhere, slave!” The ‘captain’ grabbed the elf by the shoulder, intent to take him into custody.

With a cool, calculated motion, the elf turned toward the man touching him. Then his entire body flared blue and Talyn had to swallow her gasp as her entire body charged with power, as if she’d been hit by a refraction from chain lightning. 

The elf plunged his arm into the other man’s chest. “I am not a slave.” 

Talyn couldn’t see what happened, but she made an educated guess the elf had torn the ‘captain’s’ heart from its mooring in his chest, crushing the organ as though paper. The lines on the elf’s body flared bright blue once more before he pulled his limb free from the now lifeless body of his would-be captor.

 _He is fucking magnificent._ In the moment between the dead man falling to the ground and the elf giving her his full focus, Hawke was eternally grateful that she had long ago learned how to school her face and her body to give away nothing of her thoughts. Her body and emotions were alight with contradictions and if ever there was a time when no one should doubt her confidence and control, Talyn knew it was now.

A shiver of fear lifted gooseflesh on her arms, but none took notice. Her mouth grew dry, part apprehension and part something foreign and frightening, the latter causing her blood to surge with more trepidation than any actual threat the elf might pose to her body. She didn't understand her reaction, and it unnerved her. But Hawke couldn't afford weakness. She had to be strong, had to protect her family, had to survive.

“I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so… numerous.”

 _Holy Andraste, that_ voice. _No one should have a voice that dark, that tempting._ Pulling herself around to watch him as he walked, she slowly slid her daggers into their sheaths, taking a brief moment to breathe in through her nose and slowly out her mouth.

“I take it these men were looking for you?” Her personal turmoil shoved down, down, Talyn spoke with an even, if hardened, tone.

“Correct. My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister’s lost property, namely myself.”

 _Imperial?_ That explained the strange armor and the unique cadence in the elf’s, Fenris’, voice. He was Tevinter.

“They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone.”

He stood but a few feet from her and she took in his visage. He had a sharp blade of a nose and full-pink lips that rose above the strange blue-lines painting his chin. His brows were as dark as a moonless night, and rode boldly above eyes a bit overlarge for his face. Those eyes, the color of new grass in the summer, the color of the tallest, strongest pines of her homeland, they caught her gaze and refused to release her.

“Thankfully, Anso chose wisely.”

 _The dwarf may have, but I’m beginning to think I may not have._ Talyn knew the dangers of second-guessing herself, but the rock of anxiety growing in her stomach forced her to acknowledge its presence. And so she did, but she wasn’t about to turn tail now. She had questions, and if Fenris wanted more of her aid, he’d better be forthcoming.

“Everything Anso said was a lie then?”

“Not everything. Your employers was simply not who you believed.”

She lifted a brow. “I see.” She gestured to all the dead bodies. “This seems like a lot of effort to find one slave.”

His gave her a small nod. “It is.”

Hawke motioned toward his body. “Does it have something to do with those markings?”

His voice rumbled with a laugh, though it was short lived and so low, Talyn couldn’t tell if it held humor or malice. “Yes. I imagine I must look strange to you.”

_You look something, but strange isn’t it._

“I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them I would still be a slave.”

“So what now? I’m always glad to get rid of slavers, but I took this job for a reason. Though I’m inclined to call us even, I get the distinct impression you’re about to ask me for more help.”

The slashes of his brows dipped down over his features, his frown hard. He knelt to the body at their feet, searching through pockets quickly, efficiently, before rising and spearing her again with those eyes. “It is as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city.” 

He paced away from her, one gauntleted hand moving over his chin. “I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he escapes.”

“And you need my help?”

“Yes.” Fenris fairly spat the word at her and internally she empathized. Needing help wasn’t something she ever felt good about either.

“If it means stopping more slavers, then I’ll help you.”

His eyes widened, a flash of surprise gone before she fully realized it had been. “Then we must make our way to Hightown, before dawn breaks. He has a mansion there.”

Talyn nodded at him. “My uncle’s house is close. I want to bring my sister. From there, I’ll follow your lead… Fenris.”

She watched his body ripple when she said his name, but she wasn’t sure why. And she wasn’t about to infer the subtle flexing of his muscles was anything more than the elf preparing to come face to face with his ex-master again.

“Follow me.”

* * *

“Hawke! I thought for sure I wouldn’t see you for a few days, as much lightning as you threw around last night.” The friendly chuckle in Varric’s voice could not disguise the worry in his whiskey eyes.

Talyn dropped her exhausted body into one of the empty chairs at Varric’s table. Only the dwarf knew her true nature and his discovering her long-held secret had more to do with his exceptional observational skills than with any failure on her part. She hid the use of her magic beneath her sisters, whose skills encompassed Talyn's own. And in the middle of a fight, generally people didn't look around to see what their allies were doing. Most people didn't, at any rate.

Though she’d only known Varric for about nine months, the damn dwarf had wormed his way, with gilded tongue and steadfast loyalty, under her skin and into her heart. He kept her secret without need for payment, he covered her arse in every battle, and he made her feel welcome, accepted, just as she was. He asked nothing but her own friendship in return. Varric Tethras’, second son of House Tethras, was her very first friend, the first being outside of family Talyn would kill for or die for and his room at the Hanged Man was the only place she truly felt safe.

“Can I sleep here, today?”

She heard the shuffle of his footsteps a few moments before she felt his palm on her arm. “Of course, I’ll have Norah bring some food.”

His solid presence faded away and Talyn scrounged the strength to lift her body from the chair. Her entire body ached, her head throbbed, but she grit her teeth as she stumbled to Varric’s bed, stripping her armor and weapons without care, until only her smalls and her breast band remained. With the last of her power, she pulled the covers back and slumped onto the bed, a loud sigh of relief exploding from her lips.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but it was long enough she didn’t feel like nug shit when she heard Varric calling her name.

“Come on, Hawke. Wake up long enough to eat and I’ll let you pass out again.”

“Mmrrm.” She grumbled, but lifted her heavy lids and spied a small table next to the bed. Varric was perched at her side holding out a fork.

She shifted, sitting up, uncaring that the blankets fell to her waist, exposing her bound breasts. Varric lifted a brow, eyes dancing with lascivious intent as he eyed what she so flagrantly displayed.

Jerking the fork from his hand, she lifted the plate to her lap and began to shovel food into her face. It looked like a thick stew of some sort, but tasted more like sawdust and stale ale with a hint of unknown meat, but Talyn didn’t care. She was too hungry and too tired and too poor to be picky. She’d certainly eaten worse.

When the plate was cleaned, she set it back on the table and settled against the headboard, folding her palms in her lap. “You know, Varric, I could just take it off. Then we could both get some sleep.”

Those warm brown eyes shifted, his gaze moving to meet hers, and he hummed an appreciative sound. “Careful what you say, Hawke. I’m liable to take you up on the offer.”

Her mind flashed back, so many months ago, when he’d first said those words to Hawke.

* * *

_The game of Wicked Grace was down to Talyn and Varric. Aveline had left with Bethany close to an hour earlier, promising to walk the younger woman, mage, back to Gamlen’s house. Kirkwall wasn’t safe for mages, period, but after nightfall it became downright treacherous for any to travel the streets._

_“I call.” Varric tossed seven silver into the pot before showing the Angel of Death._

_Hawke looked at her hand, four Knights stared back. And excellent hand, no doubt, but better than the dwarf’s?_

_“Show me.” She jerked her head, demanding he reveal his cards first._

_“Show you what, Hawke?” The hint of a smirk on his mouth demanded she reply in kind._

_“Your cock, of course. What else?”_

_His eyebrows had risen to almost his hairline and Talyn couldn’t help but be pleased. Varric was ever throwing out double entendre, at the least justification, trying to embarrass her or to hear sweet Bethany twitter, she didn’t know, but it was about time to turn the tables on him. Not that she had much experience with sexual banter, obviously, but she could give her best attempt._

_The dwarf cleared his throat, but a hard glint flashed in his eyes. “You first.”_

_Arching a brow, Talyn threw down the gauntlet. They were in his private room at the Hanged Man, the door closed. She’d long ago drawn off her armor and so, unwilling to back down, she accepted his challenge. Folding the cards into the grasp of one hand, she moved quick as a wink, whipping the plain cotton undershirt over her head, exposing her unbound breasts._

_“Will these do? Don’t have a cock.”_

_She lifted her gaze to Varric and fought not to burst into laughter. She’d shocked him, stunned him speechless it seemed, for his mouth hung slightly agape and his eyes were stuck to her pale, creamy skin. She looked down, seeing two firm globes of flesh, but nothing worthy of such interest._

_His rich brown gaze lifted to hers. “Careful, Hawke. I’m liable to take you up on your offer.”_

_“Only if what you’re holding is worth my time.”_

_His mouth turned down in a frown for a second, before a soft chortle began to rise from his chest. “Woman, you need some lessons in flirting. The idea is to build up the man’s ego, not thrash it on the rocks.”_

_Sudden embarrassment rushed through Talyn, making her angry and extremely uncomfortable. She knew nothing of flirtation and less of sex and she was overcome with shame at her actions. Dropping her cards to the table, she stood abruptly, grabbing her shirt from the table and struggling to get it back on._

_Snatching her armor and daggers from the stand near the door, she couldn’t bear to turn and face him. “I’ll see you later, Varric.”_

_“Hawke, wait. Hawke-“ She hadn’t heard him move, but his hand gripped her forearm, stalling her palm from reaching the doorknob. “Talyn, stop.”_

_“It’s no big deal, dwarf. I need to get home.”_

_“Look at me, for Andraste’s sake.” His hold tightened, demanding._

_She drew a breath, knowing the tears she felt pressing behind her eyes, pounding against her forehead, did not reveal themselves in her eyes. She’d long ago learned never to cry. Gritting her teeth, she turned her head to look down at her…friend. Varric Tethras had gained a place in her life she’d never thought to use._

_“Let me go.”_

_But Varric, ever a hound on the scent of a story, instead pulled on her arm, unbalancing her and bringing them eye to eye._

_“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. You surprised me, that’s all. I’ll admit I was beginning to think you’d taken a vow of chastity.”_

_“Varric, I don’t need false compliments.”_

_“False-? What are you talking about, Hawke? You’re immensely desirable!”_

_Anger rose in her blood and she jerked from his hold. “I wouldn’t know what I am, Varric. I’ve never had a suitor, never been in one place long enough to, and besides, I have Bethany to protect and my mother. I can’t take the chance. The one time I let myself be dazzled by lust, I lost my father. I cannot afford to be so selfish again.”_

_“Selfish? Talyn. Fuck it.”_

_His mouth, warm and soft and seeking pressed against hers and Hawke found herself shocked by the sensation. Heat pooled in her belly and a shiver of excitement stole over her skin._

_At first, she simply let herself feel, but soon the press of his lips to hers grew bolder, the tip of his tongue teasing, asking for entrance, and she opened to Varric, let him lead her through these first heady steps of desire. Her eyes closed as sensations and flavors washed over her, soon making her limbs tremble and her breath come hard and fast._

_He pulled away slowly, his eyes heavy lidded, his breathing harsh. “Have you ever been kissed, Talyn?”_

_She swallowed but couldn’t force a response from her throat. She shook her head and watched his warm, welcoming gaze heat with passion._

_“Then let me teach you all the ways you can.” He took one of her hands in his and slowly led her toward his bed._

* * *

She hummed to herself as memory faded, grinning as she let the warmth of Varric’s affection soothe her frazzled psyche. He was her closest, her only friend, and he had also been her first lover. He’d been amazing, showing her over and over just how talented his mouth really was, painting in glorious pleasure all the wonders of kissing and so much more. But he’d also revealed to Hawke that she was beautiful and worthy of desire. He’d helped her understand, and accept, that taking something for herself didn’t have to be selfish, that it was sometimes necessary and right.

She adored him, and he her, but from sex had grown a kind of intimacy that bordered on familial. A few months ago, she’s asked Varric about it, and he’d tried his best to explain love had many faces, many incarnations, and that the way they felt for each other was more than the love of friendship, but less than the love of the heart.

She’d cried then for the first time since she’d been nine years old and seen her father quietly sobbing when he’d discovered Bethany’s magic. Talyn was so sure she’d failed Varric, like she’d failed the most important people in her life before him. Her father, Carver, even her mother and Bethany. Failed to keep them safe, failed to love them enough, failed to sacrifice enough for them that the Maker would end their relentless struggle to survive and finally allow them some surcease, some hope and peace.

Talyn didn’t know if the dwarf had understood her near inconsolable state, but he’d made no judgment. He’d held her, stroked her hair, and when it was over, they’d been closer, the bond between them unbreakable. Though they occasionally shared passion still, what she had with Varric was not built on sex and would never be the kind of relationship that ended in marriage and children. And he, as much as Hawke, wouldn’t have had things any different.

“Come to bed, Varric. Just hold me.” Such a small thing for some, but for Talyn, it was the truest proof of her trust. She shied away from being touched, even in the most harmless fashion. An ingrained response, not to let anyone too close, not to let anyone through the walls she built to protect herself, and her family, from pain and loss.

The dwarf chuckled and slipped from the bed, removing his outerwear before motioning for her to move. “Make space, human. It’s a damn good thing I have the biggest bed at the Hanged Man.”

His small, powerfully compact frame slid beneath the sheets, the warmth of his skin pressed to hers. She waited for him to settle before sliding down enough that she could rest her head at the crook of his arm, the fingers of her right hand absently sifting through the hair on his deep, broad chest. It was unbelievably soft, like silk, and so lush and thick. Petting him soothed her and Varric didn’t seem to mind.

“He hates mages, Varric. What the hell was I thinking, telling him about the expedition?”

“Ah, the elf. He seems almost as prickly as you, Turtle.” 

Talyn grinned. Her nickname, apropos considering she hid behind a nearly indestructible shell. But her thoughts soon drifted back to the Tevinter and her smile drooped. “For a moment, I thought I was actually going to have to kill him in order for Beth to be safe.”

“Lyrium branded, escaped slave of a powerful magister, I suppose I can understand his hatred. But why do I get the feeling this is about more than his political leanings.”

“I don’t know, Varric. Something about him sets my teeth on edge. Makes my skin prickle.”

The handsome dwarf laughed. “You want him.”

She tugged his chest hair, earning her a sharp hiss. “No I don’t. No, I can’t. Fuck, I have no idea, Varric.”

“Haven’t you ever been in lust?”

“I want you.”

He tsked her. “That’s not the same. Your desire for me grew out of your trust. Not from an overwhelming urge to have my body or from the all-consuming draw of my spirit to yours.”

“What’s the difference? Lust is lust.”

He hugged her close, rubbing his broad, calloused palm across her back. “Ah, Turtle, sometimes I forget myself. Don’t worry about it. Now that you’ve saved the elf for now, you don’t have to see him again, if you don’t want to. But enough talking, we both could use some sleep.”

Eased, but not easy, Hawke bottled up all the things spinning in her head and relaxed in Varric’s comforting embrace.

“Talyn?”

“Hmm?” Sleep beckoned and her lids slid closed.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to hide your magic from everyone?”

“Maker willing, forever. Not even my father ever knew the truth. I couldn’t bear to add to his burden.”

“I understand.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's secret is revealed.

“Look here, boys. Volunteers.” The slaver mage sneered at Talyn as she led Anders, Varric, and Fenris deep into Darktown in search of a lost mixed-breed mageling.

“Clap ‘em in irons and let’s see what the Tevinters will pay for ‘em.”

“You’d think your reputation would precede us, Hawke.” Varric brought Bianca over his shoulder and gave Talyn a wink.

“You’d think.” She flashed him a grin before turning to Fenris. “Make him talk.”

“I can do that.”

The self-satisfied tone of his intriguingly cadenced voice made her stomach knot, but she clenched her jaw and pushed the feeling away. But when his lyrium markings flared, the sensations rebounded ten-fold worse and she had to actually choke on a distressed moan.

Fenris plunged his hand into the slavers chest, pulling back when the man screamed in agony and the truth they were after spilled from his lips. Fenyriel was in a bolt-hole on the wounded coast, awaiting pick up by Tevinters. If they hurried, they might be able to get to him in time. When the bastard asked if he could live, Talyn curled her lip and spat a ‘no’ at him before cleaving his head from his neck and then turning her fury on his men.

“Kill them all.” She gave her orders and then leapt at the nearest target, her weapons plunging into the man as cleanly and quickly as Fenris wielded his own power, leaving her opponent just as dead.

Blood sprayed her face, but she only blinked and re-targeted. She heard Fenris bellowing behind her, drawing their attackers to him, saw Anders throwing spell after spell, fire and ice tearing through the enemy. Varric stood back, plucking off the weakest with each shot, quickly and efficiently whittling down the opposing numbers until none remained.

Or so she thought. As she knelt over the mage leader, checking his corpse for coin, a rogue appeared in a cloud of smoke. Talyn flipped back, evading the initial attack, pulling her daggers at the same time. But as she moved to meet this new enemy, Fenris jumped in front of her, his palm pressing to her abdomen and giving her a slight shove before he lifted The Dogs of War, his massive maul, over his head and slamming it into the rogue. 

All air left her body, the sensation of his hand on her body stealing her breath, her focus, leaving her wind milling, terrified and off-balance. No one touched her. No one. Even with his gauntlets and her armor between them, it was as if they’d been flesh to flesh, muscle and skin and blood turning hot, her stomach cramping almost painfully, the rush of blood to her core and then back out again leaving her panting, flush, and instantaneously furious.

She didn’t think, she reacted, feeling cornered and needing an escape. When Fenris turned back toward her, she lashed out, striking him with a bolt of lightning, lifting him from his feet, sending his body flying several feet away.

“Andraste’s ass, you’re a fucking mage!” Anders curse echoed in her ears and what she’d done doubled her over.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” She was choking, she couldn’t breathe. Whipping around, her eyes met Varric’s and the pity there, it was her undoing. Forgetting everything, anything else, Talyn shifted her balance and simply _ran_.

She tore up the stairs, back to the main thoroughfare of Darktown, running headlong past the poor, the destitute, the broken that called this shithole home. Knowing she had to get free, get away, oh Maker what had she done? There was nowhere she could go to escape them, nowhere her secret wouldn’t be discovered. She couldn’t go to the Gallows, she refused to be caged in the circle, leaving her mother and sister defenseless against the every growing tyranny of the Chantry. They would have to kill her first.

She heard Varric’s voice calling for her, knew if he was close the others were as well, and she churned her legs faster, making the entrance to Darktown in less than three beats of her heart. As she navigated the maze of streets up toward Hightown, she didn’t slow. If she could make it to Hightown, she could make it to the Docks and from there, she’d take a ship to Sundermount. 

The Dalish may not like humans, _shemlen_ they called her, but their Keeper, Marethari, would at least give her refuge, for now. The both of them had owed a debt to a powerful mage, probably a maleficar, and the Dalish leader had given Hawke welcome among her people. And there, among the elevhen, none of her companions would come asking for her. Merrill, once the first of the clan, was no longer welcome. And the one who had started all of this, Fenris, had almost as much loathing for the last remnants of ancient Arlathan as he did for mages.

As the lantern of the Blooming Rose came into view, Talyn almost stumbled as relief cascaded through her body. Drawing on her resolve, she didn’t slow her steps. She couldn’t afford to let down her guard until she looked the Keeper in the eye. Her body flew through the market, the stairs to the docks in sight, when she heard him bellow her name.

“Hawke!” 

She spun, the unforgiving black of his armor drawing her eye like the sun did a flower, the moon a wolf. He stood at the top of the risers, above the market, and even from that distance, she could see the power vibrating his lithe, powerful form.

“Stop running.”

“Maker take you, Fenris!” She screamed the words at the top of her lungs, hoping to purge some of her agony, to return a tiny measure of control, but to no avail.

She didn’t wait for a reply, bolting down the stairs, heart in her throat, lungs burning, and real, true, undiluted terror threatening to swallow her up. The rest of her breakneck dash was a blur, she only remembered finally making it to the docks, throwing several silvers at a fisherman who was just tying his boat off, before she threw herself into the rickety wooden vehicle and plunged the oars into the water. A flash of lightning severed the rope keeping her tethered as her powerful strokes put significant distance between Hawke and the dock.

She saw him shove his way to the edge of the stone and flinched at his furious roar.

“ _Venhedis!_ ”

He was alone for but a moment more before Talyn caught the glittering of Anders staff and the flash of Bianca’s sight reflecting the setting sun. Struggling to breathe through the crushing pressure in her chest, she sent a silent request for Varric to protect her family until she returned, then was nearly buried beneath the onslaught of guilt the thought created.

She rowed until the muscles in her arms, shoulders, back, and belly screamed with fire and agony, finally sighting the shore of Sundermount. How she managed to crawl from the boat and make her way to the Dalish encampment only the Maker knew, but as she tripped and fumbled toward the central fire, panic overcame her sense and she collapsed at the Keepers feet, body shuddering uncontrollably, lungs seized tight, heart threatening to explode from her chest.

Marethari looked down at her, warmth and worry filling her eyes, but not pity. She put her hand to Hawke’s forehead. “Sleep now, child. I will tend to you.”

And thankfully, Talyn passed out.

* * *

“ _Fasta vass_ ” Fenris curled his hands into fists at his sides, his body fairly aching to strike something, anything.

“Damn woman. Why did she run?” Next to him, Varric slipped Bianca into her holster, his face puzzled.

“Why didn’t she tell me she was a mage? There was no reason to hide it from me, of all people.” Anders stamped his staff against the stone, his tone waffling between anger and confusion.

“Not everything is about you, Abomination.” Fenris spun on his heel, stalking back toward Hightown. The others fell in step beside him, but his focus turned inward.

He should have known, the way he responded to her, the first time she spoke his name. But he’d been confused, the warmth that rushed over his brands at her nearness nothing even remotely similar to how they reacted to Danarius, his magister flunkies, or the other mages he’d met on his travels. With the exception of Bethany, whose presence didn’t hurt but was more like a gentle pressure that after too long began to chafe, Talyn Hawke’s magic, he knew now, turned his body hot, hard, hungry to feel more of it, to steep himself in it. 

He cursed himself. He’d thought he was merely attracted to the woman, unique enough in itself, had assumed her boundless energy overflowed her small body and spilled out onto anyone near her. She had such strength, such passion in her, but she was always cool, calm, tightly controlled. He appreciated those aspects of her personality because he thought he understood them.

Now, he wasn’t so sure. He was confused, his body still painfully hard after she’d thrust her power into him. He had never reacted to a magic attack that way. If he had, he was certain Danarius would have used the knowledge to inflict even more degrading punishments upon his body than those he had suffered at the magister’s hands. Though his body had been abused in a sexual fashion three times during his enslavement, his base needs turned against Fenris, each time those who had assumed to do with Danarius’ pet as they desired, without the magister’s permission, had forfeited their lives for the transgression.

And part of him was furious at Hawke for doing something very similar, her magic still thrumming through his lyrium tattoos, his hunger for release a living, clawing thing between his legs. But a greater part of him knew she had no idea her effect, that in truth she had no intention of ever revealing her magic to anyone. And that part of him was more infuriated by what he felt was her lack of trust, in him, than anything else.

He lifted his gaze to his surrounding, unsurprised to find his feet had carried him to the Hanged Man. With a growled sigh, Fenris scrubbed his hands over his face, frustration singing through his body.

“Come in and have a drink, Broody. We’ll look for Hawke tomorrow.”

Varric held the tavern’s door open, and Fenris rolled his shoulders before entering. He watched the Abomination make his way to the bar and Isabela. Though all of Hawke’s companions knew Justice wouldn’t allow his mage host to get drunk, Anders remained dogged in his attempts to find some sort of release from the pressures he suffered. Brought on himself, in Fenris’ opinion, not that it mattered.

“We cannot simply allow her to run away, Dwarf.”

Varric slid a beer across the table to Fenris and shook his head. “If you haven’t learned by now that no one _allows_ Hawke to do anything, I’d say you’re behind the curve.”

“ _Vashedan_.”

“I’m not nearly as fluent in Qunlat as you, but doesn’t that mean shit?”

“Yes, it does. _Festi bei umo canavarum_.” Fenris sneered at Varric before taking a long, slow drink from his mug.

“And that? Tevene, I assume?”

“It means she will be the death of me.”

Varric whistled low and said something so far beneath his breath even Fenris’ sensitive ears couldn’t discern the words. “What was that, Dwarf?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Broody.” The dwarf didn’t look at the elf, instead peering into his beer as if it held answers.

Long minutes passed with no words spoken, but it did nothing to ease the tension eating at Fenris from the inside out. “Enough of this. I am going after her.”

“Elf – Fenris. It’s dusk, you’ll never find her.”

“Oh yes I will. I know exactly where that infuriating mage went.”

Varric lifted a brow. “Really? And where is that?”

“Sundermount.” He swallowed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table as he rose.

The dwarf didn’t even have the grace to look surprised. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“What? That I’ve no doubt she ran to those _elves_ knowing how much I loathe to be in their presence. It was me she was running from.”

“Likely herself more.” This time, the dwarf hadn’t spoken softly enough and he snapped a sharp, cutting look at Fenris. “If you ever repeat that, I’ll personally deliver you to Danarius myself.”

The vehemence in Varric’s voice left little doubt he’d do exactly as he said. Intrigued by the depth of his feeling for Hawke, if he were honest his feeling were closer to jealousy, Fenris opened his mouth and made an ass of himself. 

“Have you slept with her?” The snide curl of his lip faded quickly beneath the forceful blow of Bianca’s butt.

“Don’t you ever imply that girl is easy, a slut, or that the only reason anyone would want to protect her is because she’s a quick fuck. She deserves better.”

Fenris’ markings flared to life, but the cocking of the crossbow stilled his anger. Blue light faded and he touched his fingers to his mouth, the bright red stain of his blood cooling what was left of his ire. He’d been an absolute prick and he deserved anything Varric dished out.

“I apologize. That was unworthy of me and certainly of Hawke.” He looked at the smaller man and knew Varric had indeed been in Hawke’s embrace, but whatever happened between them was more than rutting. The dwarf loved the human, though from his face, Fenris was certain the love wasn’t lust born.

“It was. Hawke is a lot of things, easy is not one of them. And whatever is between she and I, Elf, isn’t something anyone else needs to worry about. I’m not her lover, I’m her friend. Maybe the only one she’s ever had. Now, if we’re going, we’d best move our asses before there isn’t a ship to be hired.”

Fenris nodded and followed the dwarf from the inn. As the pair made their way to the docks, the elf mulled over Varric’s words, his brow furrowing at what the damn dwarf had been telling him without telling him.

* * *

When she awoke, it wasn’t gently. She jolted upright, scrambling backward, her shoulders smacking against something hard and unforgiving. Frantic, she searched for her blades, something to defend herself with against whatever unknown awaited.

“Be at ease, child. You are safe in my _aravel_. The wind carried your terror to me. What has happened, Hawke, to bring you to the Dalish?”  
Talyn bit her lip hard enough gouge the tender flesh, spilling blood over her chin, as panic tore at her soul and threatened to undo her again. Strangled by her own violence, a tiny whimper echoed in the hazily lit space regardless.

“Shhh, child. You are alright, now, no one will hurt you here.” The Keepers voice was gentle, melodious, soothing and the tight band suffocating Talyn eased, bit by bit.

Wiping the blood from her chin, she focused on the grating, stinging pain and the throbbing of her mouth, used it to ground her, to focus, to bring back her control. A breath shuddered from her chest, then another, then another, until her breathing smoothed, turned even and soft.

“I’m a mage.”

“Hmm, I sensed as much, but you are late to your powers.”

Hawke shook her head. “No, no I’ve known since I was twelve, though I suppose I was a late bloomer. But no one else knows, well except Varric but that’s because he’s too damn observant by half.”

The Keeper gave a soft laugh. “Yes, your _durgen’len_ is most perceptive.”

“Tell me about it.” She felt a smile curl her lips, though it didn’t last. “I did something, before I came here. I didn’t intend for it to happen, it was a reaction, instinctive. But it’s done; I cannot go back and undo it. I lashed out at one of my companions, revealing my secret. And I… Maker, I think I panicked. I fled.” Talyn buried her face in her hands, so ashamed, filled with guilt and anger, unable to face the Keeper and risk seeing pity or recrimination in the older woman’s eyes.

“Look at me, child. I have no judgment here.” The soft touch of cool hands pulled Hawke’s palms free of her face. “Why do you fear this exposure so? I feel it has little to do with your Chantry.”

Talyn grimaced. “No, the blasted Templars are ever a worry. But you’re right, my fear,” she cringed simply voicing the word, “has more to do with my family. I couldn’t bear to burden my mother with this truth, nor my father before her. Our lives have been so hopeless, scurrying from one hovel to another, one backwater town to the next. Ah, it’s not that we knew no happiness, it’s that the darkness of hiding, ever aware that one wrong move would tear our family apart, jail my father or my sister for the rest of their lives, never knowing how they were, if they lived, if they'd been made tranquil. The never ending shadow being apostate wrought on our lives always seemed to make any joy short lived, a passing thing.

“When I discovered my magic, I was terrified to tell my parents. My father had sobbed, harsh breaking sounds, when my sister manifested her power. I know he was grateful to be born a mage, he always told Bethany it was a gift from the Maker, a powerful one that she must learn to wield wisely. But I know, in that moment, he realized his precious daughter would never be truly free, just to _be_ , to live and love. He knew all the struggles she would face and I know he wished he could take back that gift.

“So I trained in private, hiding away, practicing. I would follow father and Bethany in the Fade, watch as he taught her how to conquer the demons that wanted nothing but her power. Eventually, I learned how to use my talents with blades in the Fade, how to kill any demon that dared approach me, and later was able to protect Beth and my father as well. I spent most of my nights protecting their dreams, so they could sleep peacefully, so they could rest and set aside their burdens.”

“My child, you have spent so long taking on the responsibilities of everyone else, defending and being watchful of those you hold close, you have forgotten to care for yourself. Let me ask this: did you harm your companion? Did your anger hurt them?”

Talyn squeezed her eyes closed, trying to recall the scene. “No, Keeper, I don’t believe so. Well, not true harm. I didn’t shock him enough to do real damage.”

“Then perhaps your fear is for nothing.”

_Hawke! Stop running. **Venhedis!**_

“He was terribly angry. And he should have been. He didn’t mean to touch me, I don’t imagine. He skirts physical contact with almost as much dedication as I.”

 _Andraste’s ass! You’re a fucking mage._ The disappointment in Anders tone, the sensation the other man somehow felt betrayed, rang in her ears.

“He wasn’t the only one angry. One of my other companions, a mage, felt deceived. He didn’t understand why I didn’t reject and condemn the Chantry out of hand when he thought only my sister to have magic. I can’t imagine what he thinks now.”

“Talyn, may I call you by your given name?” Hawke nodded and the Keeper gave her hand a brief press. “There comes a time when you must accept you cannot protect everyone. You cannot defend everyone. Each of us must make our own paths and perhaps it is past time for you to choose yours.”

“I did choose, long ago. I am Talyn Hawke, the impervious shield between my family and any who would do them harm. It’s all I know, all I’ve ever been, all I ever wanted to be.” Talyn felt her resolve reaffirmed as she spoke the words, felt doubt ebb away.

“A noble role, my child, but not the only one the Creators made you for. Think on my words, Talyn. I will go now and get you some food. Be welcome among The People.”

Marethari withdrew from the _aravel_ and Talyn did as she bade. Perhaps the elder had a point, though it was difficult for Hawke to grasp it, having spent so many years as nothing other than she was. Needing to do more than sit on a bed, hiding, she rose and began to dress. As the last blade slid into its sheath, she heard the sound of voices raised in anger.

“Tell me where she is, woman! I haven’t the time for your riddles.”

_Fenris._

Heart instantly pounding, Talyn quickly surveyed the room. It wasn’t very large, more the bed of a wagon than anything else, but the fluttering of a flap on the side opposite her position drew her eye. With utmost haste, she moved to it, quickly undoing the ties and silently sliding out the small opening.

“FENRIS!” Varric never yelled. He never raised his voice. “You aren’t helping, damn it! Now shut the FUCK up before _I_ shoot you!”

Her thoughts flickered back to Darktown, to the pity in Varric’s eyes, and Talyn felt a painful catch in her chest. No, she couldn’t face either of them, not now, not so soon. She needed time, time to rebuild her walls, time to collect her stoicism and her strength. Their voices grew nearer and she knew she’d nearly lost her advantage. 

Taking off at a sprint, she heard a muttered curse. “She isn’t here.” 

Varric’s voice was fading, but it was Fenris’ reply that quickened her step. “Maker be damned, no, there she goes. Hawke! Fuck!”

* * *

“Fenris, no! Aw, shit!” The elf knew there was no way the dwarf could hope to keep up with Hawke or him in a foot race. “If she comes back with a scratch I’ll break you!”

Fenris didn’t offer a reply, his keen eyes locked on the flashing white under-padding of Hawke’s rogue armor. She was fleet, perhaps faster even than he, and he could almost taste her fear in the air. But he was determined to end this, to find out why she’d run at all.

Breathing carefully through his nose, Fenris sped his feet, keeping his pace steady. He watched her scrabble up the steep incline of a mountainside, the path she took long overgrown with weeds. He knew she pushed herself at an unsustainable rate. As long as he kept her in sight, eventually she’d have to slow, and then he’d have her.

Up the craggy rock face they rose, by inches and increments he closed the distance. When she crested a flattened ledge and collapsed, Fenris surged upward on a jolt of satisfaction. Finally, his prey was within his grasp. The last few moves went in a blur and at last, his hand encircled her ankle and he pulled himself up beside her.

The moment his hand touched her body, he’d felt every muscle in her body draw tight as a bowstring. Levering himself onto his hands and toes, Fenris released her and moved toward her shoulder, rolling her roughly to face him. 

“Hawke! _Venhedis_!” Blood wept from her mouth, fresh rivulets smearing over the dried evidence of early damage. Reaching for her face, he watched her flinch and cursed himself again, hastily stripping his hands of gauntlets before taking her jaw in a gentle hold.

Need electrified him, but not ignorant of desire, Fenris clenched his teeth and tried to keep his breathing even and slow. His smoothed his fingers to her mouth, seeing the flash of pearl-white in the moonlight, realizing she had bitten nearly through her own lip, trying to hold something in.

“Damn it, woman, stop!” He thrust his thumb in her mouth, between her cheek and teeth, pressing hard at the back of her jaw, until finally, her mouth opened.

The sound that came from her throat set all his hair on end and brought his body to readiness so fast he was momentarily dizzy. The aching tone, part relentless need, part agony, hammered into his ears, racing over his flesh quicker than a wildfire and hotter than a lightning strike. He jerked away from her, unsure what the void was happening.

She curled onto her side, slowly rocking against the ground. He lifted a hand toward her and she moaned again before pulling back, fighting to keep his flesh from meeting hers. “Do not. Fucking. Touch. Me.”

“Hawke, I am not going to hurt you. What kind of bastard must you think me?”

She said nothing, her body shivering though the night was warm, balmy. “So hot. I’m so hot. I think I’m going to be sick.”

He didn’t care whether she wanted his touch or not, something was not right. Lurching for her, he took her shoulders in his grip and lifted her face to his. She struggled, but exhaustion weighted her limbs and once she stilled in his hold, he shifted his hands so that one was splayed between her shoulders, keeping her in place, and the other freed to touch her skin.

She was flush, her lips slightly swollen, though probably from her vicious biting. He slid his palm over her cheek, across the bones beneath her eyes, and used two fingers to carefully open her eyelid. He pulled her closer, felt their breath mingle, and watched that pupil expand until only a narrow band of silver remained. She shuddered in his arms, one of her hands coming to his upper arm, her nails curving into his leathers, biting deep and hard.

“Hawke?” His lower lip brushed over hers, so near, and he watched her legs tighten against each other from the corner of his eyes.

 _Oh. My. Maker. She’s aroused._ Fenris hadn’t thought his cock could possibly get any harder, but the realization of what was causing Talyn Hawke so much distress washed over him like a tidal wave.

“Please, Fenris," his name a moan on her ravaged mouth, "let me go. Going to throw up.”

He stood, pulling her from the ground and swinging her lithe, lean form up and into his arms, cradling her body to his. “We’re leaving Hawke. If you must vomit, try to keep it from my leathers.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deep Roads and the Wardens.

Hawke was barely coherent of the return to Kirkwall. She clearly remembered Fenris carrying her down the mountain, of them meeting with Varric and Marethari, of the cool rush of healing magic as the Dalish leader erased the damage her teeth had wrought. She remembered Fenris refusing to relinquish his hold on her and she remembered finally throwing up over the side of the boat when the fire of his touch had twisted her gut beyond her will to fight. 

Her entire body had throbbed, an ache she didn’t understand. It hurt, but was unlike any pain she’d ever experienced, and with every shift of Fenris’ hold on her body, her breasts, her sex, and every muscle in between had flexed until she was sure she’d shatter. She tried, she fought to tell him, to beg him to stop touching her, by Andraste, to let her go, but the only sounds that came from her mouth were breathy groans or harsh moans.

Talyn had felt like she was dying and she needed _something_ Maker help her, something to make the endless feelings, tearing her apart from the inside, stop. When the boat had finally come to rest at the Docks, Fenris had grudgingly handed her over to Varric. The dwarf had steadied her on her feet, she’d mumbled something like a benediction of thanks, and stumbled from his hold. Away from Fenris, her head cleared, slowly and when the Elf made to touch her again, she used the last of her strength to shock him.

“I will walk. Do not touch me, Fenris. Do not.” Bracing herself against the solid, stone walls of the buildings, Talyn slowly made her way, knowing both Varric and the elf followed, from the Docks, up toward the city proper. By the time they reached Lowtown, she no longer needed to support herself, and it was under her own power Talyn opened the door to the Hanged Man and made her way to Varric’s room.

She threw open the door and began stripping her clothes the moment the bed came into sight. _No more. No more._ Sleep beckoned and Hawke succumbed, the last thought in her mind that tomorrow couldn’t possibly be worse than today.

* * *

“No.” Varric put a hand out, stalling Fenris’ forward motion. “She’s had enough. Let her be.”

“Do you know what was wrong with her, Varric?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Hawke, Elf.”

“Damn it, Dwarf, I’m in no mood. Do you know why she was so distressed?”

“I have a few ideas and not all of them have shit to do with you, Broody.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Elf, that outing herself as a mage is likely more pressing on her soul than the fact that she’s bedeviled with desire for you. Desire she doesn’t understand which may in fact be amplified by both her magic and your lyrium, a hunger she has never experienced and has no idea how handle.”

Fenris lifted his brows at Varric, realizing he’d underestimated the other man. He slumped into a chair at the table in the far corner of the tavern, a spot where he could hide in the shadows, but still see the entire room unhindered. He lifted a hand toward Norah, the waitress, and she nodded before making her way toward Corff at the bar.

“She _wants_ me. How can she not know she wants me?” He spoke to himself more than anyone, but he couldn’t deny the stab of relief when Varric answered.

“Because she’s never wanted anything, or anyone, beyond her family’s safety and happiness. She told me once she’d let lust cloud her vision and she believed her father died because she let down her guard. If that was her first taste of lust,” Varric shook his head, “I have no idea how to explain _you_ to her.”

“Varric, I won’t tell anyone she’s a mage.”

“I know you won’t, Broody.”

“What about the Abomination?” Norah placed Fenris’ beer on the table and he gave her a handful of coppers.

“No matter how upset he might be, there’s no way Blondie would out Hawke. Besides, he wants her almost as much as you do.”

“I will kill him.” The words, vicious and guttural, were out his mouth before he could stop them.

The dwarf chuckled and lifted his brows. “Careful or you might start to glow too.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m pretty sure the Widow Hand is about as good as you’re going to get for the foreseeable future, Elf. Now, I’m going to cut to the chase. We will never speak of this to Hawke. You will keep your hands to yourself unless touching her can’t be avoided. And tomorrow, we’re all going to the Wounded Coast to save that damn elf-human mage. Understood.”

“Understood.” Fenris lifted his beer and settled deeper into his chair. 

* * *

Talyn awoke alone in Varric’s bed and immediately wanted to fall back into unconsciousness. Despite the day before, which shamed her until her face felt like it would explode from the rush of blood, hiding was not her style. Breathing deep, Hawke rose from the bed and felt a rush of gratitude when she spied the still steaming breakfast at Varric’s table, saw the freshly pressed stack of her clothing on a chair, her armor shining and pristine adorning the rack.

She ate in her smalls, letting her mind accept everything that had happened in small pieces. She realized now she’d run more from herself than from anyone else. She had been overwhelmed by her failure to control herself, and that distress had grown exponentially until she couldn’t contain her panic. She wasn’t proud of herself, but as the Keeper’s words filtered through her mind and spirit, Hawke began to understand where her true failure lie, and it wasn’t in a lack of control, but rather the many, many years that she’d refused to relax and relinquish some of that rigid stoicism.

In short, she’d spent most of her life wound so tight, it was inevitable she’d eventually crack. And though Talyn knew she couldn’t change overnight, she was determined to try to ease up on herself moving forward, because losing her shit as she had the day before would put not only herself, but everyone she cared about, in inexcusable danger and Hawke refused to allow that to happen.

As to Fenris, well Hawke chalked up her rolling stomach, the aching in her body, as left over adrenaline and fear. Sure, his touch had been what set her off, but perhaps it was simply the strangeness of being touched, of having her physical space breached, which had caused her to strike out at him. Perhaps she should apologize, but Hawke decided she wouldn’t. She hadn’t asked the elf to jump between her and danger and she certainly hadn’t asked for his hand on her body. 

Besides, she assumed, after watching her throw up over the side of a boat because he wouldn’t stop touching her, Fenris would get the hint and keep his hands to himself forthwith, solving the problem. Mulling the solution, Hawke thought maybe she reacted so violently because of the lyrium burned into his skin. That was as good an explanation as any, in her book.

Full, both with food and thought, she dressed and armed her body. Feeling mostly normal once more, Hawke opened the door and descended the stairs. She nodded to Corff as she left the Hanged Man, never noticing the elf in black tracking her every move from a shadowed corner.

* * *

The next few months passed in a blur, until Talyn managed to scrape together enough coin to begin Bartrand’s expedition. Armed with coin and Grey Warden maps, she and Varric strode through Hightown, ready to make the elder Tethras an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“You!”

“Ah, brotherly love. It’s quite something, don’t you think?” Varric retorted. It seemed his humor remained undiminished in the face of his brother’s disparaging.

“Sure is something, especially when little brother makes promises I can’t keep.”

“Bartrand! So suspicious! I have in fact brought us our future partner.”

Bartrand’s face mottled with rage. “What? Partner! Why you stupid, nug humping, dirt farmer. Why’d you go promising something like that?”

“Because, if we don’t get this expedition moving, Brother, then we won’t have any profits to argue over, now will we?”

Varric’s brother wanted to argue, Talyn saw it clearly in his eyes, but they all knew Varric was right. They had Bartrand over a barrel. After assessing that Hawke did indeed have the fifty sovereign and the Warden maps of the Deep Roads, Bartrand fell into a speech even Talyn found slightly offensive. As the elder Tethras wound down, something drew his attention.

“Who invited the old woman?”

Talyn looked over to see her mother standing at the edge of the expeditions gathering.

“Mother, what are you doing here?”

“I just need to know one thing: are you planning on taking Bethany with you?”

Talyn sighed heavily. “I can’t leave Beth behind. I need her.”

“Mother, I’ll be fine. I want to go.” Though she sounded determined, Talyn noted the hint of beseeching in her tone, asking their mother to let her go.

“It’s not fine. You can’t both go. What if something were to happen to you?”

“It’s the Templars or the darkspawn, Mother. At least I’m allowed to fight darkspawn.” Anger colored Bethany’s response and Talyn understood her frustration.

“As much as you can’t stand to see her leave, Mother, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left her behind. If I came back and found she’d been hauled off to the Gallows, then everything I’ve spent my entire life doing will have been for nothing. Bethany comes with me.”

The look on Leandra Hawke’s face wasn’t one Talyn had ever seen, but she understood it implicitly. It was angry and disappointed and apprehensive.

“I love you, Mother. I hope you can forgive me.”

Talyn turned away, allowing her sister and mother to embrace and say their goodbyes in semi-privacy. 

“Got that settled?” Bartrand sneered, and she hated the smarmy bastard a little bit more.

Talyn nodded.

“Good, then let’s go.” 

As they made their way out of Hightown, Talyn chanced a glance over her shoulder, eyes widening when she found Fenris standing next to Leandra, helping the sobbing woman away. She glanced at Beth, then at Anders who walked on her other side. 

“What was he doing there?” She asked under her breath.

“I don’t know. Considering how much he hates mages, I’d have expected him to come bearing streamers and horns, since the three of us are leaving and may not return.”

“Anders, enough.”

The ex-Warden harrumphed but silenced himself as she ordered. Squaring her shoulders, she followed Varric and gave a silent prayer that Anders was wrong. They were all coming home.

* * *

“You see what I’m seeing?” Varric’s voice was awed as they approached the altar in the ancient, forgotten thaig.

“Is that lyrium?” Talyn felt a hum in the air, but the magic seemed wrong, strange.

“Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune.”

Bartrand let out a loud whistle. “You could be right. Excellent find.”

“Not bad. We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.” 

Hawke pulled the idol from its resting place, and handed it to Varric, who barely glanced at the piece before lobbing it down to Bartrand’s position.

“You do that.” Bartrand turned and headed toward the exit.

Hawke caught movement from the corner of her eye. “The door!”

Racing down the stairs, she knew they wouldn’t reach the portal before it closed.

She slapped her palms against it, knowing she, Anders, Varric, and Bethany might be trapped in the blasted thaig forever.

“Bartrand, it’s shut behind you.”

From the other side, Talyn heard the distinct rumble of a dark, malicious laugh. “You always did notice everything, Varric.”

“Are you joking? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?” The disbelief on Varric’s face broker Talyn’s heart.

“Varric, he isn’t going to help. We need to find a way out.” She pitched her voice low, ignoring whatever bullshit reason Bartrand gave for his betrayal.

Her friend’s shoulders slumped and his head dipped. Talyn gave him whatever time he needed to come to terms with his brother’s treachery. It didn’t take him long to lift his chin and curl his hands into fists.   
“I promise I will make him pay for this if it’s the last thing I do, Hawke.”

She clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They made their way slowly, through tunnel after tunnel, fighting possessed rock wraiths Bethany discovered were called Profanes, before stumbling upon a hunger demon that claimed to know the way out. For a price.

Talyn refused to deal with a demon, and her choice had cost them three more days battling through the Deep Roads before they finally faced the demon and defeated it. Though all of them were bone weary afterward, they found a cache of gold, jewels, and coins as well as a key and a door beyond the Demon’s broken, empty shell.

When they finally made their way to a familiar place, Varric spoke. “We’re back where we started and in only five days. Not bad, huh?

“Could we…slow down. I’m not feeling very well.” Bethany’s voice was strained, as if speaking were a struggle.

“It was probably those deep mushrooms we ate.”

“No.” Bethany began to crumble and Talyn rushed to her side, catching her in her arms. “It’s the blight. I can feel it inside of me.”

“Bethany, no. No, I won’t let it take you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Everything ground to a halt and Talyn fought to keep her emotions hidden. It did no one any good for her to breakdown, not now.

“I may know a way to help her.”

Hawke looked up at Anders. “How?”

“I stole these maps from the Grey Wardens and that means they’re probably down here, somewhere. I think I can find them, but we must hurry.”

“Becoming a Grey Warden cures the Blight?”

“In a way.” He frowned and looked away from her. “It’s the only way to save her, though I’ll warn you, once you become a Warden, there’s no going back. It cannot be undone.”

“Then we have to try.”

“Sister, are you certain?” Bethany felt so fragile in her arms. 

“I’m not certain of anything other than the fact that you will not die.”

And so the three of them had may their way, Anders guiding their movements, until they came across a nest of darkspawn being tracked by Wardens. Lily and Anders blew their way through the blighted beasts, Varric holding position over Bethany, protecting the youngest Hawke.

When the Warden approached and Anders asked the man to take Bethany and at least try the Joining, the other man hesitated a moment to long. 

“If Bethany dies so do you.”

The man sighed and shook his head, but Anders stopped whatever the Warden might have said. 

“Take her and try, Stroud. That’s all I ask. She’ll die anyway if you don’t.”

“If I do this, any debt between us is paid.”

Anders nodded and the Warden motioned to his men to collect Bethany from Talyn’s hold.

“Being a Warden isn’t a cure; it’s a calling. I will take the girl and you may not see her again.”

Bethany turned to Talyn. “Then, I guess this is it. Take care of Mother.”

Talyn swallowed hard and nodded, her fingers clinging as the Warden’s men pulled her sister from her grasp.

She watched them walk away, the crushing pain of failure once more threatening to bury her beneath its weight.

The rest of the trip to Kirkwall saw Talyn Hawke withdraw from her companions until Varric feared he’s watch his dearest friend simply shrivel up and turn to dust. When the air of Hightown finally teased his face, he turned to Hawke and tried to say something, anything, to bring the light back to her eyes.

But it didn’t work. She told him she hadn’t the power to bother with Bartrand, giving Varric her forgiveness without actually saying the words, though he didn’t believe he deserved it. Then with shoulders slumped, she turned away, carrying the burden of her loss like weighted sack cloth. Varric felt his eyes begin to ache as he watched her walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing, the Hanged Man, and Sundermount

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual situations ahead. Reader discretion advised.

It was months before they knew Bethany had survived the Joining, and it wasn’t until then that Talyn felt herself begin to return to life. While they’d waited for news of her sister, Hawke bought her mother’s familial estate in Hightown with her earnings from the Deep Roads. Though the purchase didn’t fix what was broken in Talyn, or between Leandra and her remaining child, it began the process.

It was a slow road, but this morning as they broke their fast, Leandra had taken Talyn’s hand between her own. “I’m sorry, my baby. I let my grief over Bethany guide my words, and not my heart. It wasn’t your fault, Talyn. Not what happened in the Deep Roads, not what happened to Carver, and not your father’s death, either.”

Emotions began to build in her chest, feelings Talyn didn’t want to deal with, and she tried to pull away, but her mother’s grip tightened.

“Talyn, it wasn’t. You were right, if she’d stayed with me, she’d be a prisoner in the Gallows, of that I have no doubt. At least this way, as a Warden, Bethany can live free of the Circle, just as your father and I always wished.”

“I should have protected her better, I should have watched her more closely, kept her out of the fights. It _is_ my fault.” The tears wouldn’t come, they never came. Only the pressure arose, growing and growing, until Hawke wanted to scream, though she couldn’t.

Leandra shook her daughter’s hand until Talyn lifted her gaze to meet her mother’s. 

“No, it isn’t. Sometimes, no matter how hard we work, no matter how hard we fight, there are things we cannot avoid. I love you, daughter. Forgive me.”

“I love you, Mother.” Leandra gave Talyn a watery smile, fragile but there, and some of the tightness eased in her chest.

“Gamlen told me he’d heard you were running errands for the Viscount.”

Withdrawing from her mother’s hold, Talyn nodded as she lifted the glass of juice to her list. “The Arishok asked for me.”

“How would he know of you, Talyn?”

Years ago she’d led a Qunari mage, a _saarebas_ , from Kirkwall to a tiny island off the coast. When they’d arrived a _Keratom_ of Qunari had met them. It soon became clear they’d been set up. When the mage had chosen to die, Talyn hadn’t agreed with his choice, but she understood it was the mage’s decision to make, much to Anders’ dismay.

Still, she’d been infinitely more frustrated when the _Aarvarad_ had turned on her. Such a useless waste of life as far as Talyn was concerned. Still, she hadn’t hidden the fight or the deaths, instead going to the Arishok in his gifted home at the Docks and told him what she’d done. Perhaps her honesty had been enough to garner his notice.

“My interactions with the Arishok happened long ago, though I suppose I was always forthright when we spoke. Maybe he respects the truth.”

“Oh, my dear, do be careful. The Qunari are so strange, so dangerous.”

“Perhaps more so now. Someone stole a poison gas from our northern guests and released it in Lowtown. Thankfully, I got there in time to prevent a lot more deaths, but the damage was done. Tensions are rising and it’s only a matter of time, Mother. There are groups in this city who want the Qunari gone, by any means necessary. Promise me you’ll take care and don’t be out past dusk.”

Her mother shivered. “Of course.”

“I’ll be gone for a few days, Mother. I’m to see the Dalish about a tool.”

Her mother gave a small laugh. “You never could stand to be still for long. Always going, going, going.”

Talyn smiled as well. “I’m sure you’d be happier if all my goings involved society parties and fancy Orlesian silk dresses. But alas, I’d rather play in the dirt with my knives.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way. Who’s going with you this time?”

“Merrill, Fenris, and Isabela, I believe. Don’t worry, Varric and Sebastian assured me they’d be by to visit while I’m away. In fact, Sebastian suggested he’d love to take you to lunch tomorrow.”

“Prince Vael is quite a handsome man, my dear.” Leandra didn’t even try to hide her intentions.

Talyn sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. “He is indeed. And if I could get past the massive face of Andraste over his groin, I might be interested. Sadly, she’s quite distracting.”

Her mother’s mouth turned down. “Well, there are several eligible bachelors in the city. I suppose I’ll just have to start looking for a suitable husband for you.”

_Whether I want one or not._ Resigned, Talyn nodded. “As you wish.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence and Talyn bussed a kiss on her mother’s cheek before heading to her room to collect the gear she’d need for a trip into the mountains.

Despite disagreeing with Merrill’s plan to seek a special Dalish tool to fix her broken mirror, Hawke decided to go because she knew the naïve elf needed protection, mostly from herself. As she placed the last of her equipment in a small sling, Talyn hoped this trip wouldn’t cause more harm than good.

She’d agreed to meet the group at the Hanged Man by mid-afternoon, so with a wave to Bodahn, she’d called for Tabris and headed to Lowtown. She was early, but it gave her time to pick up potions from Elegant and do a bit of last minute shopping before the appointed time.

“Hawke! Good to see you!” Corff waved and Talyn nodded back as she entered the tavern.

“Why don’t you go find Varric, Tabris.”

The Mabari gave a sharp bark and happily trotted off to find the dwarf. Talyn took her time following, collecting her thoughts as she went. This little sojourn to the Dalish would be the first time she’d had Fenris in company since, well, since the last time she’d been to Sundermount.

She hadn’t necessarily been avoiding him. After all, she’d gone to visit him at his mansion, listened as he’d told her the tale of his escape. But she’d been on edge the entire time, struggling to keep her breathing even. And when he’d said something about his problems not being hers, she’d told him they could be. 

Though Talyn hadn’t been trying to be coy, or flirtatious, the air between them grew stilled and she’d left shortly thereafter, kicking herself for her lack of social skills. All she’d meant to say was that Fenris didn’t have to go it alone, that she and their other companions were there for him, if he but asked.

Still, some niggling, irritating part of her mind called her liar. Though she might not have been trying to flirt, over the last several months Talyn had forced herself to admit there was something about Fenris she found immensely compelling. But the way she reacted when he was near, her body going hot and tight, her skin tingling and becoming ultra-sensitive, utterly petrified her. Until she felt she could handle herself better, she’d reasoned it was prudent to take Aveline with her when she needed a warrior’s strength.

But this time, the guard-captain couldn’t travel. With the uneasiness between the Qunari and the zealots who stood against them, the guard needed all hands to keep the peace. Besides, Hawke had only a week past finally managed to get Aveline and Donnic together. She couldn’t bear to part the woman from her new love so soon. No, it was Fenris who would have to be with her on Sundermount.

“There you are. Isabela said not to leave without her. She had an errand to run.”

Talyn smiled at Varric. “I’m not surprised. For an ex-captain that woman is remarkably absent minded.”

“Oh, ho, Hawke, don’t tell me you actually believe that?” The dwarf chuckled and motioned for her to join him at the table.

She pulled out a seat, but didn't sit, instead laying her forearms across the high back and leaning over. “Not for a minute. Still, it’s a brilliant façade. No wonder so many people underestimate our Pirate Queen. Have you heard from Merrill?”

“Daisy will be here, though she was grumbling just last night about your choice of Broody for this little trip.”

“The witch can complain all she likes, it won’t change a thing.”

Talyn’s body snapped to attention, her control the only thing keeping her where she stood. Fenris’ voice, smoky and soft, sounded so close to her ear, the fine hairs on her nape stirred with his breath. 

She didn’t turn to look at him, could feel the heat from his body, so close to hers the shift of her hips would likely bring them into contact. Instead, her eyes widened as she stared at Varric, willing him to do something to help her out. The damn dwarf, blast his hide, seemed content to watch her struggle and merely lifted a brow, as if to say, ‘what do you want me to do?’.

Closing her eyes, Talyn drew a deep breath and regretted it immediately. The faint smell of ozone and ore lifted to her nose on the dark, musky scent that was Fenris alone. Her skin hummed at his closeness, a faint ringing took root in her ears. Flashes and spots of white danced behind her closed lids and her lips tingled.

“Breathe, Hawke.” That voice, even closer, the warmth of his words teasing her neck.

She hadn’t realized she held her breath, the exhalation of the trapped air loud in the room. Heat suffused her face, flushed through her blood on a surge of embarrassment, but maintained by her quickly rising ire. Clenching her jaw, she glared daggers at Varric. Anger, however, regained control and Talyn relaxed her tense muscles, moving several steps away from Fenris.

“I know Merrill isn’t thrilled with my choice, but I need Fenris.”

Varric, the bastard, shot her a smart-ass glance and she didn’t miss the soft, choked sound coming from the elf’s direction. Grinding her teeth, she swallowed a growl and fought not to stomp her feet like a child. She hadn’t meant anything untoward by her comment, but leave it to the dwarf to infer his own lecherous opinions.

“I’d have brought Aveline, but she’s needed here. Experience has taught me having a warrior along in the mountains is a good idea, so Fenris is the only other option.” Steeling herself, she turned to face the cranky Tevinter. “And I’m sure you’ll keep your scurrilous comments to a minimum while we’re there. I’d like to leave Sundermount in one piece.”

He inclined his head, but didn’t comment. Frowning and irritated, she snarled at him. “Fenris, your word.”

“You have my word, Hawke.”

“Oh, no, I want to hear you say ‘I promise to keep my mouth shut so that Hawke doesn’t have to kill the Dalish just to get back to Kirkwall’.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lip curling with distaste. “I promise to keep my opinions to myself while we’re on Sundermount.”

Of course he couldn’t just repeat what she’d said. “Fine, good. I’ll take it.”

Fenris looked like he wanted to say something else, but the happy chatter of Merrill and Isabela interrupted him.

“Kitten, he’d have said his mother was a Mabari if I’d told him to.”

“Really? Wait, is that something dirty? Isabela, you know I always miss the dirty things.”

The buxom pirate laughed raucously as she flung an arm around the small elf’s shoulders. “Give it time, Kitten.”

“Everyone ready?” 

“Yes, Hawke, we’re all a-tremble, anxious to get underway.” Isabela’s sarcastic tone made Talyn smirk.

“Then let’s go.” She watched her companions leave the room, gaze lingering on the back of Fenris as he loitered behind the women.

“Be careful, Hawke.” Varric sat back in his seat. “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure Leandra is safe.”

She turned her head toward the dwarf, leaning over to press a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Varric. I expect we’ll be back by mid-week. Make sure he gets home?” She pointed to Tabris.

“I believe we have a game of Wicked Grace tonight, don't we my Mabari friend?" At Tabris' excited barks, Varric laughed. "I'll make sure he's home by morning. And when you get back, the pint’s on me, Turtle. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

With a fond smile, she headed after the others in her rag-tag band, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

* * *

“I can’t believe I trusted you. I thought you were going to help me!” Merrill’s moss green eyes glittered with tears, but Hawke stood her ground.

“I am helping you! Damn it, that mirror is dangerous. And your obsession with it has led you to blood magic, Merrill. Fuck, I just killed a possessed Vartarrel that slaughtered at least four of your clan-mates! No, I’m keeping the _erulin’holm_. I’ll save you from yourself, if you won’t.”

“I can’t… I need to leave.” The tiny woman vibrated with outrage and pain as she stormed away from Talyn.

“Isabela-“

“I’m going, Hawke. Damn it, you should have given it to her.”

“This is not up for debate, Isabela.”

The dusky woman glared at Hawke for a moment, before sighing with a slump of her shoulders. Turning, the pirate hurried after the Merrill’s quickly retreating form.

“I am sorry, Hawke. I know it pains you to hurt those in your care, but this is for the best.”

Talyn scrubbed a hand over her face. “Yes, Keeper.”

Marethari moved away, leaving Hawke alone with her thoughts.

And Fenris. “You did the right thing.”

“I didn’t do it for your approval, Fenris.” The words sounded like a slap and she regretted the waspish tone instantly. Curling her hands into fists, she tried to reign in her temper.

“Regardless. The witch will get herself, and all of us, killed with her recklessness.”

“It isn’t recklessness, as if she has no regard for the danger she brings on herself. Fuck! You, of any of us, should understand what it’s like to long for what has been lost.”

“She uses blood magic to achieve her goals!” Fenris stepped close, his body taut with anger.

“And you blame magic instead of the mage! Magic didn’t cause your pain, Fenris, corrupt mages who twisted magic to their own selfish purposes did. But you refuse to see it that way, you refuse to admit the Circle is no better than the Imperium, with mages as its slaves!”

“Venhedis!”

“Yes, please, curse at me. It’ll make you feel superior and then you can pretend the dangerous mage is just ignorant.” Chest heaving, she whirled from him and took several moments to bring herself under control. “Look, I don’t want to argue, Fenris. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this.”

“Fine.”

“Great. It’s nearly dark and there’s a storm moving in. I think we should set camp here for the night. Merrill needs space from me and I’d rather not be within earshot while she vents her frustration.”

He mumbled something, but his words were caught on the wind. Looking over her shoulder she lifted a brow. “What?”

“I said, Isabela has my tent.”

_Sweet Maker, this day just kept getting better and better._ “Why does Isabela have your tent?”

“Because it is lighter than her bedroll.”

“Shit. Fine. We’ll share mine. It’s not really big enough for two, but I think we can manage.”

“I’d prefer if we could move our camp away from the Dalish.”

Grinding her teeth, Hawke stalked away from the elf. “Of course, Fenris, whatever will make you happy.”

He spoke, but she didn’t hear him and she didn’t care to. She’d had as much of pissed off elves as she could take for one day.

The hiked in silence until the last rays of light slipped behind the mountains. They’d seen no sign of Isabela or Merrill, though Talyn didn’t think the duo could be much farther ahead. With the fires of the Dalish encampment long behind them, she figured they’d gone far enough.

“Go collect some firewood, while I set camp.”

Fenris grunted his assent and moved off to do as she bid. Hawke didn’t linger, quickly erecting the tent and laying her bedroll inside. The space was small, but considering both of their lean builds, she hoped she’d be able to get at least some sleep. She heard footfalls as she pulled dried fruit and meat from her sack.

As she backed out of the tent, she turned to see Fenris carefully stacking wood. When he was finished, she saw him glance at her with an expectant look.

“What?”

“Are you going to light it?”

“What do you mean am I going to light it? Don’t you have a flint?”

He growled something then said, “No.”

“Flaming nugs, Fenris.” With a loud sigh, she crawled back into the tent to retrieve her fire starting kit.

Grumbling under her own breath about frustrating elves, she quickly scraped her smallest dagger against the flint, sparks catching on the dry tinder. “There. Did you bring rations? Or do I need to feed you too?”

Fenris scowled at her. “I have food.”

“Great. I’m going to eat now.”

Damn it, the tension between them seemed to get worse. Hawke tore off a piece of jerky, chewing viciously, and chastised herself silently. The constant sniping, the way his very presence set her temper to a hair trigger, it was tiresome. There had to be a way for the two of them to get along. For Andraste’s sake, she’d known Fenris for almost three years and she wanted to count him among her small circle of friends. She simply had to stop letting him get to her.

Swallowing her food, Talyn decided to take the bull by the horns. “I’m sorry-“

“Why don’t you-“

They spoke at the same time, which drew a soft smile on Fenris’ mouth. He really should smile more often. If he was handsome when he was brooding, the gentle curve of his lips made him devastating.

“Go ahead.” She wanted to roll her eyes at her girlish thoughts.

“No, Hawke, you first.”

At that she did roll her eyes. “I was going to say I’m sorry for snapping at you. It isn’t your fault I’m in a foul mood.”

“I believe I’ve contributed. And for that I, too, apologize.”

She didn’t say anything more and neither did he for several moments. “I was going to ask why you didn’t use magic to start the fire.”

She pulled her gaze from the orange glow between them, taking in his face, looking for signs of judgment. When she saw nothing but curiosity, she decided to answer. “My talents lie in lightning and entropy, Fenris. I’m not very good with fire.”

“But lightning starts a fire as well as a flame.”

“With enough power. But to start a campfire? No. A forest fire? Sure. In this small a space, using lightning to start a fire would likely hurt one or both of us.”

“I see.”

She wouldn’t say they fell into companionable silence, but at least the tension wasn’t so thick it choked her. As she finished the last of her fruit and took a drink from her flask, she had a moment of worry for Isabela and Merrill.

“I hope they’re alright.”

“The wit- Merrill is Dalish. She knows how to survive in the wilds at night. And Isabela is a capable woman. I’m sure they’re fine.”

She’d never heard Fenris refer to Merrill as anything other than witch. Though it shouldn’t have matter, Talyn found it pleased her. They sat for a while longer before Fenris rose and lifted his pack from the ground.

“I’m going to turn in.”

“Alright. I think I’ll sit here for a bit longer. I love the smell of rain on night air.”

“Have the sense to come in before you’re soaked through.”

She shook her head. “At what point in our acquaintance have you thought me lacking sense?”

He smirked at her.

Hawke had no idea what his look meant. “Well?”

Lifting the flap, he slipped inside. “Good night, Hawke.”

“Damnable elf.”

* * *

As it turned out, Talyn was able to sit beneath the stars for a couple of hours before the first raindrops plopped, fat and warm, against her face. Resigned, she rose from the fire, adding the last of the thick limbs Fenris had drug back to camp and hoping they’d be enough to keep the blaze lit.

As carefully as she could, she entered the tent. Fenris lay on his side, facing away from her. He was on top of his bedroll, in full armor still, and she wondered how he could sleep at all with all that thick leather binding his limbs. Crawling onto her own bed, she quietly pulled off her gauntlets and boots, before slipping her chest protection over her head. The short skirt of her armor was loose and comfortable, thankfully, because there was no way she was stripping to her smalls.

She settled down to rest on her back, listening to the soft huffing of Fenris’ even breaths. But the longer she laid there, the warmer she became, and the more curious. She couldn’t remember ever being this close to the elf, at least not with all her faculties or without them arguing. _You know what killed the cat, right?_ The small voice in her head warned, but like that stupid cat, Talyn couldn’t resist the urge to look.

Slowly, she shifted onto her side, propping her elbow up, and leaned her face against her palm. His hair, the very first thing she’d noticed about him, was brilliantly white. Not gray, or ashen, but pure, snow-white. It looked so thick and she wondered if it were lush and soft, like his namesake’s fur, or if it was rough and abrasive like Fenris himself. Her fingers itched to sift through the strands and of its own volition her hand crossed the bare inches between them.

Soft, so soft, his hair glided over her fingertips. Her touch feathered over his crown, hand shaking slightly as she struggled to keep her flesh from pressing to hard and waking the man. Though the urge to feel his hair more fully rode her, Talyn gently caressed over the strands, her pulse quickening. When he murmured something in his sleep, she drew her hand back, afraid to be caught invading his space in such a personal way.

After a few more minutes, his breathing again settled. Talyn wanted to roll over and go to sleep, knew she should, but it was impossible. She thought back to the Hanged Man earlier in the day, the way the smell of him had transfixed her so. Wondering if it would again, she shifted closer, eyes wide as she leaned close to his neck, watched his hair stir with each small puff of air she exhaled. Not close enough to touch, but as close as she felt safe being, Hawke quietly inhaled.

He smelled so good. She almost hummed, his scent filling her with warmth and… happiness. The faint hints of lyrium reminded her of her father, how often he smelled of it when he hugged her tight and close. The tickle of ozone made her think of lightning, how she’d learned to harness her power, how much she loved the smell of it and the singe of electricity when her magic was released. 

But the darker, deeper smell that was Fenris’ own scent stirred her blood. Like the night rain in a field of elf-root, its earthy, musky aroma twined with a subtle floral note. He smelled safe and dangerous at the same time and Talyn thought she could become addicted to his unique fragrance with little effort.

Realizing she’d been breathing deep of him for some time, Talyn retreated back to her bedroll. She lay there, watching his sides lift slightly with each breath, her eyes taking in all the detail she could of his body. From the intricate tracings on his arms, up to his semi-tousled hair, until her gaze settled on his ears. She’d heard elven ears were extremely sensitive, but the tales always spoke of pain, an evil human twisting or flicking one of the long, delicate appendages as punishment.

She wondered if Fenris’ ears had ever been touched with kindness.

* * *

The woman was determined to drive him slowly insane. First, teasing over his hair, her fingers gently disturbing the strands until he’d had to bite his lip to keep from speaking. When she’d withdrawn, he’d forced himself to relax, tried to will his body back to sleep.

But then, he’d felt her warm breath on his neck. Fenris had no idea how he managed to stay still when he’d realized she was _inhaling_ his scent. The thought of Talyn voluntarily taking any part of him into her body made him painfully hard. Rather, more achingly erect, since simply being near the female brought him to readiness.

Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to bear it a moment more, he felt her warmth pull away, heard her shift on her bedding. _Please,_ he begged silently, _let her curiosity be sated._ This desire he had for her was the definition of insanity, but he was drawn to her as no other. Perhaps, in another life, he’d have been bold, told her how he felt.

But he’d lost so much more than his freedom as Danarius’ pet. He recalled nothing of his past, not his family, not his childhood, not how he came to be in Darnarius’ keeping. He remembered nothing of loves or lovers, and he hadn’t indulged in pursuits of the flesh since his escape. For all he knew, he was as untutored as it seemed Talyn Hawke was in the art of desire.

Still, he understood the feeling. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, was certain she felt the same, but apparently the fearless rogue was terrified of the passion between them. And while his ego preened at that truth, he knew he couldn’t turn this power he had against Talyn. He’d suffered abuses few could fathom and the idea of using her need against Hawke made him physically sick.

He heard a soft sigh, a slight rustle, and released a slow breath. Perhaps she had finally succumbed to sleep.

The first tentative touch was so light, he might have ignored it as the stirring of his hair against the helix, the outermost ridge of his ear. The second stroke, from the tip down to the lobule, however, could not have been happenstance.

_Mercy, venhedis, mercy._ He would not be able to remain still if she continued her exploration. Locking his muscles in place, he focused on breathing, and fought to ignore the softest touch he could have imagined, caressing his delicate ear with gentleness for the first time in his life.

Around the bottom and back up the underside, her skin so soft and warm as it traced each gentle curve, every subtle edge. His cock jerked against his leather pants, fluid leaking from the tip freely, enough that he could feel the liquid where it began to pool.

When she reached the apex, she retraced her previous path and Fenris could not hold back any longer. He moaned, the sound ragged and harsh in the silence.

Her touch jerked away and he heard her breath catch. He didn’t turn to face her, knowing if he saw desire on her face he would lose himself. So he tried not to shudder, his body on the edge of desperation, and waited for her to either sleep or say something.

“Fenris? Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He swallowed, his mouth so dry he thought he’d need a water skin to loosen his tongue. “No. You did not hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“It’s alright.”

“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? Father used to tell me elves ears were sensitive, but to pain. He said cruel people would twist elven ears or whip at them. I… I wondered if yours had ever been touched gently. It’s foolish.”

Every word she spoke only burrowed her deeper and deeper into his heart. Fenris wanted, in that moment, so badly to be angry with her, maybe even to hate Talyn Hawke. He had nothing to offer her, consumed as he was with poisonous rage at his enslavement. He didn’t know how to be kind, how to soothe, how to love. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was Talyn Hawke deserved to be loved, fiercely, deeply, with strength and devotion.

He simply didn’t believe he was the man who could give her what she deserved or that he was worthy of the kind of love he knew she would give in return. Her whole being, her entire soul, Hawke would give her love unconditionally. She’d give her heart without regret.

Damn his black soul, he longed to be worthy of her and he wanted to kill anyone else who might be.

“Fenris?”

“Hawke.” He kept the edge out of his voice, his heart pounding so hard he felt his pulse in the soles of his feet.

“May I? Fuck, this is weird, I don’t want you to… Shit, never mind.”

“What is it, woman?” Harsh, but he needed her to go to sleep so he could ease his body.

“Your ear is so soft. It’s just, could I rub it a while longer? I used to rub my father’s ears when I was a child and I… I don’t know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and I don’t know why I’m even asking, it’s not like we’re friends, not really, and usually we’re yelling or sniping at each other, but maybe, if it isn’t too creepy, I could just-“

Holy shit, she was babbling a mile a minute! Fenris didn’t know whether to laugh or groan, because he knew what his reply was going to be the moment she’d asked her question.

“I do not mind. But Hawke, I’ll only allow it if you lie down, close your eyes, and go to sleep.”

“Alright.” She settled closer to his back, bodies still not touching, but almost.

When her fingers grasped his ear this time, her touch was bolder, firmer, and Fenris thought he’d die. Every sure stroke echoed along his shaft until he shuddered, curling one hand into a tight fist he wedged against his teeth, the other moving to his cock, squeezing the savagely throbbing organ hard.

“Am I being too rough?”

_Vashedan, not nearly rough enough._ “No.” His voice barely above a whisper. “Stop talking.” Firmer, louder.

She pressed harder, the blunt edge of a nail teasing the upper helix and he broke.

“Stop, Hawke, you have to stop. _Fasta vass_ I can’t take any more.” He rolled to his back and threw his arm over his eyes, panting hard, body shaking, screaming at him to finish what Talyn had innocently begun.

“Fenris, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

He heard the regret in her voice and it tore at him. With heaving breaths he lurched to a sitting position. She was going to hate him, but he couldn’t bear to leave her thinking she’d caused him more pain when that had been the last thing she’d wanted.

“You didn’t hurt me, Hawke. I swear.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He looked over his shoulder, they dying glow of the fire casting just enough light that he saw the blush of arousal on her cheeks, the shine of hunger in her silver eyes. “I- it’s-“

“What?” A frown pulled her brows together.

He lunged at her, and she fell back, surprise widening her eyes as he loomed above. “I’m so hard, if you breathed upon me, I would be undone.” He withdrew from her before the temptation to taste her mouth overrode his better sense, what little of it remained. “Go to sleep, Talyn. I won’t be far.”

Without another glance, he surged from the tent and into the rain-cooled night. 

* * *

_”I’m so hard, if you breathed upon me, I would be undone.”_ The shock of Fenris’ words burned through her body. 

Oh, Maker, she hadn’t even considered his ear might be an erogenous zone. Her face was aflame as she realized what she’d done. She had to fix this; she couldn’t leave things as they were. She wasn’t a magister who would turn a slave’s body against its owner for her own satisfaction. He must be so disgusted with her, by her.

Why had he let her keep touching him? There was no way Fenris would ever willingly want to have sex with a mage. Damn it, she had ruined the tiny buds of friendship she’d thought they might have kindled with her thoughtless request. Sick with guilt, she hurried from the tent. Talyn was willing to face his anger, she deserved it.

She didn’t see him in the darkness, the waxing moon didn’t cast enough light through the clouds above. But when she heard his groan, she turned toward it, and made her way toward the sound. True to his word, he wasn’t far from the camp. He was hunched against a rock face, one outstretched arm supporting his body, his head hanging down as though he’d wretched.

Steeling herself, she strode toward him. Determined, she laid her bare, left palm against the lyrium branded flesh of his right forearm, which was curled around his front. “Fenris-“

His markings flared to life and her magic leapt in response. Her fingers tightened on his skin, her legs trembling so hard, she threw her right arm across his upper chest, fingers curling around his left shoulder, digging deep for purchase, fighting to stay upright. The power rose between them, and like a magnet she lurched against him, chest, belly, the apex of her thighs, pressed to the hard strength of his side, pinning most of his arm between them, his right hip digging into her mons. 

Her lips pressed against the shell of his ear and Hawke shuddered. So soft, she knew she was possessed when her tongue slipped from her mouth to trace the contours her fingers had so recently discovered. Electricity sung through her body when he roared.

“Hawke!” The cry held no pain, was instead a shout of rapture.

Talyn may not have known what was happening when she’d touched his skin, but she did then. She felt the tension in his body snap, moaned when it reverberated into her own body. She experienced his orgasm as an echo, but it was still more powerful than anything she’d known before. Those had been gentle, comforting releases, satisfying and safe.

The raging storm thundering through her body, drawing her nipples into hard, tight points, making her sex convulse with jealous ripples, clouded her vision and tore away all conscious thought beyond how good it made her feel, and how much she hungered for more.

As the last phantom trace of pleasure burst over her senses, Talyn felt Fenris slip. They stumbled into the rock, both of them struggling to breathe, to bring themselves back to Thedas. Slowly, she pulled away, curling her fingers into her palms to stop herself from reaching out to touch him again. Her, Talyn Hawke, the woman who did almost anything to avoid the press of another's skin, ached to slide her arms around Fenris. It was a tangible sensation, a dull, throbbing pain from separating her body from his. The elf's forehead was pressed to the stone, but she heard him moan when she stepped away.

Not knowing what to say, or even how to begin, Talyn turned away and tripped her way back toward their camp. As she burrowed into her bedroll, trepidation caused her heart to beat erratically. She needed to talk to Varric. After what had just happened, Hawke had absolutely no idea how to move forward. Had Fenris been seeking relief with disgust, revolted that he’d needed to take himself in hand because of her touch? Would he hate her even more? 

The way he’d called her name into the night only confused her more. The bellow had been sweet, full of pleasure. Whatever Fenris had been feeling, Talyn was certain of one thing. Varric had been right. She wanted the Elf.

And that scared her more than anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's forget that ever happened... and Hadriana

Hawke awoke alone in the tent, the first tendrils of dawn barely able to penetrate the heavy cloth of the portable shelter. Her sleep had been fretful, but she was almost more tired of trying to sleep than from a lack thereof. With a sigh, she rose and dressed quickly, gathering her bedroll and sling when she stepped into the early morning light. With practiced efficiency, Hawke rolled up and stowed the gear, until the only evidence of their stop the chilled ash of the fire and a soft depression on the ground.

Needing to tend her morning ablutions as well as refill her skins, Talyn began took in her surroundings. She’d seen no sign of Fenris, as yet, his pack and body gone. Though she wasn’t thrilled to find the elf absent, she wasn’t surprised either. Neither of them had much luck communicating with the other and after what had happened in the night… Hawke shoved those thoughts away. She hadn’t time to dwell on... anything other than collecting her companions and returning to Kirkwall. At least, that's what she told herself.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to go far before the soft trickle of water drew her attention. A small stream, hidden from view by a wall of trees, trickled along a rocky path about thirty yards from camp. Taking refuge in the foliage, Hawke emptied her bladder, eyes vigilant for potential dangers, then happily made her way to the water. She tested it against her skin, smelling the droplets that clung to her fingertips. A quick swipe of her tongue told her it was clean, safe to drink.

She washed her hands and face, shivering at the water’s cooler temperature, before lifting her flask to refill the nearly empty container. She headed back to the now abandoned camp and paced restlessly for a few moments, unsure whether to trudge onward and hope to meet up with Isabela and Merrill or linger, in case Fenris hadn’t actually run from her.

_Oh, irony, how you love to bedevil me._ It wasn’t lost on her, the sardonic twist that had Fenris fleeing _her_ this time. 

“Damn it, Fenris.”

“What have I done this time, Hawke?”

The high pitched squeal she released startled a flock of birds from a nearby tree. “By the Maker, Fenris! Don’t **do** that!”

The look he gave her was curious, a bit of surprise, a lot of reservation, and very cool. “I didn’t realize it was so easy to startle a rogue of your caliber.” His mouth may not have twisted, but she heard the sneer in his tone.

Closing her eyes and growling beneath her breath, Hawke chose to take the high road. “Let’s go. If we’re lucky, we can catch up to Isabela and Merrill before they rise. I’m ready to be home.”

He grunted by said nothing more. With a sigh, she gave him her back and began the task of looking for sign of travelers. It took a couple of hours, but eventually, Talyn saw the first twisted branch, then a line of pebbles recently turned in the dirt, and then the distinct impressions of two bare, elven feet, flanked by the pattern of boots.

“Damn, took long enough.” She looked over her shoulder, spying Fenris some distance behind. “Here, I’ve found their tracks.” Picking up her pace, she moved quickly.

It became clear, however, as she finally found what looked to be a campsite, that Merrill and Isabela were long gone. The note, written on ragged parchment and attached a nearby tree with one of Bela’s long stilettos said the two decided to return to Kirkwall despite the lateness and the approaching storm.

“Bloody idiots! I swear, if they’re dashed upon the rocks somewhere, I’ll follow them into the Fade just to kick the shit out of the pair of them!”

Movement behind her made Talyn shift and tense until the white of Fenris’ hair came into view.

“Where are they?”

She thrust the paper toward him, but he merely lifted his brow. “I don’t need to read it, Hawke, just answer the question.”

Crushing the paper in her fist, she snapped, “They left. Last night, apparently. Fools!”

“Then we need not linger here.”

She didn’t care if he was right, it was his tone that grated her. As if she was simple and needed to be instructed. “How right you are and aren’t I lucky you’re here to state the bloody obvious.” She spun around and stalked away from the infuriating male. “Bah! I’ve had enough of this place.”

As they trudged through the untamed Sundermount landscape, Talyn realized that whatever had passed between them in the darkness hadn’t seemed to change anything and that was a good, in Hawke’s opinion. While she and Fenris weren’t really friends, neither did he seem to be holding an ever deeper, fouler grudge against her or her mage-y-ness, which was a better outcome than she expected. And the fact that he hadn’t brought it up, well, all the better. They could go on as if it never happened, never speak of it again.

They didn’t talk as she led them to the shore or on the boat ride back to Kirkwall. Not a word or glance exchanged even as they made their way to Hightown together. Not that it mattered, since Talyn was tired and grouchy, ready to snap at the first person who crossed her. And knowing Fenris, it’d inevitably be him and she really didn’t want that. They’d spent almost an entire day without fighting, for once, a small victory, but one she’d gladly take without complaint.

It wasn’t until her hand curled around the knob of her front door that either of them said a word. 

“Hawke.”

She didn’t turn around. “Fenris?”

“About last night –“

She drew to her full height, but remained facing the door. “Oh, no, Fenris. No, we are not going to bring it up, we aren’t going to discuss what happened. No, you’ve been more than content to pretend it never happened and for once, we are in complete agreement.”

“Hawke-“

“I mean it Fenris. Let it lie. A moment of weakness, an innocent mistake, I don’t care what you call it.” She shoved open the door, but still refused to face him. “I am sorry if I caused you any pain, sincerely, Fenris.” With that she rushed in and slammed the door behind her.

Back to the heavy wood, heart pounding, she fought to bring her breathing under control, flinching when she heard him curse in Tevinter even through the barrier at her back. Awkward as she felt, at least the situation was settled as far as she was concerned. She wouldn’t even need to talk to Varric about it. She’d handled it herself. With a groan, she pushed herself upright and made her way into the estate. Home at last, a hot bath and clean clothes first, a full belly after, and hopefully she’d be right as rain.

* * *

Time passed strangely in Kirkwall, it ebbed and flowed with the tides, some days passing quickly, while other drug on unending. In the days and weeks after Hawke’s return from Sundermount, she found herself ever busy, and more often than not, in the company of a seriously broody, ex-slave. With Aveline buried in guard work when she wasn’t held close to Donnic’s side, Talyn had to ask Fenris to accompany her when she adventured, as her mother called it. 

The elf had yet to complain, for which Hawke was eternally grateful. She’d even noticed his hateful diatribes against mages faded to almost nothing, the vitriol only spilling out when Anders or Merrill were in party and made some sort of commentary on their respective plights. Thankfully, her mage companions generally avoided speaking to Fenris at all.

“Where are we off to this time, Hawke?” Isabela looked up from her seat at the bar, mischief twinkling in her lovely, golden eyes.

“The wounded coast. I want to visit the Nexus Golem.”

The pirate gave an exaggerated chill. “That fucking thing gives me the willies.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you can stay in dank, dreary Kirkwall instead of strolling along warm sand beaches if you prefer.” Talyn clicked her tongue against her teeth and tried not to smile.

Bela laughed, the rich sound carrying over the din of conversation. “Not bloody likely. Especially if you’re bringing Broody.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Bela, you are perfectly perverse. Why you insist on bedeviling the man, I’ll never understand.”

“That’s because you don’t seem to appreciate how wonderfully he smolders. Gives me a shiver just imagining it.”

Hawke coughed to cover the sudden flush creeping up her neck. Isabela had no idea how wrong she was, and Talyn wasn’t about to give the woman any ammunition. “I never was very good with fire.”

“But you are good with sparks. You should get Anders to teach you some of his tricks.” The other woman’s mouth curled with a smug, satisfied grin and Hawke laughed aloud.

“You are incorrigible!”

“You love it, Hawke. Oh look, there’s Fenris now. And Merrill.”

Talyn glanced over her shoulder and saw the rest of the group enter the Hanged Man. “I suppose we should head out. I promised Varric we’d be back in time for Wicked Grace tonight.” 

The first leg of their trip to the Wounded Coast was smooth as silk, but when they were ambushed while passing a small, unnamed island, Hawke had a moment to ponder on how her companions, often as not, seemed to get her into more fights than any other entity she knew.

“Hunters.” Fenris’ voice carried low and lethal, his body tensing, readying for a fight.

Beyond his taut shoulders, Talyn took in the group advancing toward them. Sure enough, the armor on the men carried the same symbol as those she’d killed so many years ago in the Alienage.

“Stop right there! You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you’ll be spared.” Hawke lifted her face to seek out the speaker. Another man, burdened with sword and shield, stood beside a mage on a ledge some feet above Hawke’s group.

“Fenris is a free man!” Talyn pulled her daggers from their sheaths, white-hot rage unfurling, seeking an outlet. Without further chatter, she leapt at the closest enemy and disemboweled him cleanly, quickly, before the man even had a chance to draw his weapon.

The fight was over almost before it started, bodies falling, blood spewing, as Hawke and Fenris cut through the hunters with equal skill and fervor. Merrill maintained a constant barrage of distractions, calling roots from the sandy ground to ensnare their enemies, while Isabela kept up a barrage of verbal slurs and mockeries, making the men lose their focus, leaving them easy targets.

When the last of the hunters fell, Fenris sheathed his sword and stormed to the body of the mage. The man lived, barely, though the elf showed no mercy when he knelt atop the magister-in-training, digging the sharp spikes of his knee padding into the soft flesh of a back, his clawed gauntlets savagely grabbing a handful of hair to jerk the man’s head from the ground.

“Where is he?” A vicious slam, skull against rock, as Fenris demanded his answer.

“Please, don’t kill me.” Begging, as if there was mercy to be had.

Another pounding of face into unforgiving earth. “Tell me!”

“I… I don’t know. I swear. Hadriana brought us. She’s at the holding caves.”

“I know where they are.”

“Please, I beg you. Let me go.” The mage’s face was white with fear.

Fenris curled his lip. “You chose the wrong master.” With fluid grace, he snapped the man’s neck, cutting off any further comment.

“Hadriana! I was a fool to think they’d leave me be.”

“Do you know this woman?”

“She was Danarius’ apprentice. A woman who would sell her own children if she thought it would gain her position in the Imperium. If she is here, it’s because he bade her be so.”

“We need to find her, stop her, before this gets any worse. You know these caves the mage spoke of?”

The warrior nodded. “The caves were used to house slaves in olden times.” He paused and paced away from her. “We must go quickly, before Hadriana has the time to gather forces.”

“Agreed. This cannot wait. Lead on, Fenris.”

As he said, they found the caves on another unmapped island between Kirkwall and Sundermount. As they approached the entrance, Talyn’s gut churned, a frantic buzz of worry creeping beneath her skin. This impromptu mission was different from the other problems she’d solved for her companions and she felt a real frisson of fear. If she failed here, it wouldn’t be a mirror left unfinished or a back-stabbing brother left maddened by an ancient idol.

If Talyn failed to capture Hadriana, if she failed to stop the hunters, Fenris would be a slave again. She, Merrill, and Isabela might die, but what could happen to the elf was, by long measure and degrees, so much more horrific. Hawke was sick at the thought and curled her hands into tight fists. She refused to allow anyone to steal another’s Maker given right to freedom.

“Hadriana won’t escape us.” She looked at Merrill and Isabela, both women nodding in agreement.

“Let us hope this isn’t for nothing.” He swung his massive maul and headed into the dark opening.

The four of them entered the cave, weapons ready, eyes open for attackers. It was dank, and smelled of blood and death. A river of lava flowed along a channel in the floor, steam rising.

“They’re still here.”

Talyn didn’t know where Fenris’ certainty came from, but she trusted him. As they made their way to a door, it dawned on her that she _really_ trusted Fenris. When the door opened to reveal the remains of a blood magic ritual, Hawke only listened to his commentary with half an ear.

Slowly, so slowly she might not have ever truly noticed, she’d let the elf in. His dark, surly countenance had stopped being an irritant and instead become a comfort. She trusted him to watch her back, trusted him not to lie, but perhaps most insidious, she trusted him not to hurt her. As they made their way through the caves, slicing down all comers, Talyn felt moisture bead on her lip. Dampness unrelated to her exertions but dependent on the uncertainty coursing through her veins. 

After five long years in Kirkwall, Hawke finally had more than one friend. Aveline, Merrill, Isabela, even Anders and Sebastian, they were hers. Each of them had a place in her heart, and though she was unable to be open with her affection, still so terrified of failing them it was better they never knew how deeply she cared, she gave them all her loyalty without equivocation. She would do anything for the group of cast offs she secretly called family and never ask a thing in return.

But Fenris had always been different. Though she’d finally admitted she was in lust with the man, her feelings beyond that were muddled. He wasn’t her friend, and even taking on Hadriana was more because it was right, that no one should ever hold the freedom of another in their charge, than because she felt loyalty to Fenris. Or so she’d thought when they’d entered the cave. But as they approached a stairwell leading deeper into the foul place, she began to think maybe she’d been fooling herself.

Yet another band of hunters occupied the room, and they were felled with sharp blades and magic and clever subterfuge, their deaths revealing the shaking body of a small elf woman.

Fenris approached her carefully. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?” 

Talyn had never heard him so gentle.

“They’ve been killing everyone! They cut Papa, bled him.” She was frantic.

“Why? Why would they do this?” Fenris brow creased, though whether in confusion or irritation – at himself – Talyn didn’t know.

“The Magister, she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her.”

Hawke watched Fenris’ head fall, the weight of his choice dragging down his proud profile. She itched to reach out to him, to ease his burden. He couldn’t have known Hadriana would slaughter this poor woman’s family in expectation of his arrival.

“We tried to be good. We did everything we were told. I don’t understand.”

“Is Hadriana still here?” Hawke shifted on her feet.

“I think so. She told everyone to make ready for battle. I think she was very frightened.”

“She has every reason to be.” Fenris spat the words, but his ire cooled when the elf shrunk from him.

“What is your name?” Talyn at least would know that.

“Orana. I don’t understand, everything was fine before today.”

Shoulders dipping, Fenris spoke very softly. “It wasn’t. You just didn’t know any better.”

The thin woman took a tentative step forward. “Are you my master now?”

Fenris jerked as if slapped. “What? No!”

“But, what will I do?”

Talyn did what she thought best. “If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you.”

“Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you!” With quick steps, Orana hurried from the room and the cave.

A growl whipped Talyn’s head to the side. 

“I didn’t know you were in the market for a slave!” Rage tightened Fenris’ body.

“Fuck you, Fenris! I offered her a job! Would you have preferred I just give her a handful of gold, then let her loose in the wilds of the Free Marches? She’d be broken, raped, and robbed before nightfall!” Livid at his assertion, and thinking she must be mad to want Fenris, let alone trust him, she spun on her heel and headed for the open door.

She heard his hurried steps behind her. “I’m sorry. What you did was a good thing.”

“I didn’t do it for you, Fenris. But you’re welcome.”

Past two more sets of guards, they finally found Hadriana. As Fenris said, the mage used blood magic to raise the dead, calling demons to her aid. Despite the many battles they’d fought to reach her, neither Hawke nor the others were burdened by exertion. In fact, it seemed each of them entered the fray with renewed vigor, all intent to see this monster stopped.

When she fell, Hadriana did it with a look of satisfaction in her eyes. It made Talyn uneasy, and when Fenris rose above the magister, maul ready to crush her against the stone, the woman held up her hand.

“Stop, you do not want me dead.”

“There is only one person I want dead more.” Fenris’ body rippled with intent.

“I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life.” There, a smug tightening at the corners of her hate-filled eyes. “You have a sister. She is alive. Let me go and I’ll tell you where she is.”

Fenris lowered his blade. “Alright.”

Hadriana lifted herself from the ground. “You give me your word?”

The elf stooped, bringing his face close to hers. “I give you my word.”

Talyn couldn’t hear everything said, but what she did hear made her hopeful. Fenris’ sister wasn’t a slave. Her name was Varania and she worked for a magister in Qarinus.

“I believe you.” Fenris voice was dark, but his body burned to blue-white life as he plunged his fist into Hadriana’s chest and crushed her heart.

“Let’s go. We’re done here.”

As he stormed past, Talyn was overwhelmed with the urge to reach out to him. Fumbling, as she so often did when emotion was involved, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to… talk about it?”

He whirled on her, furious. “No, I don’t want to talk about it! This could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me of this ‘sister’. Even if he didn’t, trying to find her would be suicide! All that matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch’s heart.”

She was insane; she had to be, because Talyn did the unthinkable. She voluntarily placed her hand upon his shoulder. “Maybe we should leave.”

Her jerked from beneath her touch, spinning to spit his words at her. “Don’t comfort me! You saw what was done here. There’s always going to be reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. What has magic touched that it doesn’t spoil?”

How she kept her face calm, Hawke didn’t know. She’d reached out, a second time, to Fenris, tried to ease his pain, and he’d thrown her _care_ , something she normally had to force herself to show, back in her face as if it were filth. His snide, sneering countenance castigated her yet again, blaming magic alone, as if the power could determine its own path.

Her throat felt raw, her body aching as the weight of their battle and his unending hatred tore at her limbs. But she said nothing, merely lifted a brow.

Perhaps that was all she needed to do. His anger fled and he turned his face away. “I need to leave, to get out of here.” She watched him walk away and didn’t try to stop him.

* * *

A rap at her door drew Hawke across the bedroom. Talyn pulled the latch, surprised to find Bodahn waiting. “Messere, there’s another elf in the foyer. He says he needs to speak with you.”

Surprisingly, her manservant (and her mother) had accepted Orana's arrival at the estate without much fuss, but it seemed Bodahn had none of the same aplomb when it came to the dark, Tevinter elf.

She smiled as she strode past him. “That would be Fenris. Thank you, Bodahn, you can go to bed.”

“Are you certain? He seems to be rather, well, tightly wound.”

Hawke chuckled softly. That was the most polite way she’d heard anyone describe the ex-slave. “He probably is, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“As you wish.” Bodahn bowed to her before disappearing into the kitchen, headed for his rooms at the back of the estate.

She opened the door to the antechamber at the front of the estate and found Fenris sitting on a bench. He lifted his head as she entered, rising when she stood to the side of the door and leaned back against the wall.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened with Hadriana. I… I took my anger out on you, unjustly.”

Her heart jangled in her chest, though she tried to ignore the relief she felt that he was unharmed, in one piece, and seemingly sober. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. No one did. I was- I was worried.” Fuck, she should have kept her mouth shut. They were getting into dangerous territory, a place where her footing was unsure and her thoughts jumbled.

“I needed time to myself. To think about what happened. When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a cruel, vicious woman. She hounded my sleep, withheld my meals, tore into me with words to amuse herself and others. And there was nothing I could do to stop her.”

Talyn watched him turn and pace toward the door, but held her tongue. He needed to get rid of his torment and the least she could do was listen.

“The thought of her slipping through my fingers now… I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“This hate,” the word came on a hiss, “I thought I had gotten rid of it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who buried it inside of me... It was too much to bear. Ah, but I didn’t come here to burden you further.”

He turned to leave and she hesitated, only a moment, before speaking. “We’re… we’re friends, Fenris. You are no burden.”

He didn’t face her when he answered, “Friends? I’m not even sure what that is.”

She bit her lip to stop from saying more as she watched him walk out the door. Damn him, she wasn’t sure whether his final words were a reflection on himself – or her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talyn can't run anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To this part, besides the small bit about Hawke and Varric having once been lovers, I’ve tried to stay true to the canon. And I apologize for sort of rapidly recapping so much of the early part of the game, but I hoped to give the readers a good footing in regards to Talyn before truly diverging from the path, as it were, without becoming too long-winded.
> 
> Now, though, we’ve come to a turning point for Talyn and Fenris. As most of what comes next will be created by me, and not a reflection of in game action, I want to remind readers that this fiction will grow darker, with themes of self-harm, depression, violent agression, etc. Reader discretion is advised.

“Varric?”

“Turtle?”

They were alone at his table, Varric looking over some request from the Merchant’s Guild while Hawke sharpened her blades.

“You’d do me a favor, wouldn’t you?”

His warm eyes lifted from the parchment in his hands. “Depends on the favor, Hawke. As I believe you once said, I won’t do anything involving children or animals.”

She grinned. “Nothing like that. I found something the other night, in the Alienage. I think Fenris would like it. Thing is, I doubt the bastard would accept a gift from me. Still, I want him to have it.”

“What is it?”

“ _A Slave’s Life_. It’s by Shartan.”

“The elf that fought alongside Andraste.” Varric laid the paper on the table and folded his hands together. “I think you’re right, Broody would appreciate the book.”

“I agree, I just don’t think he’d appreciate it coming from me.”

“Hawke, Hawke, sometimes, woman, you are so dense.” He chuckled and shook his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone irritated her as much as his comment confused her.

“It means that I think you need to give him the book yourself.”

She frowned and began stiffly repacking her whetstone and polishing silks. “Fine. When he throws it in my face and I punch him for it, I’ll be sure to thank you.”

Varric’s gaze turned soft, worry pinching his brow. “Somehow, I have the feeling you won’t be thanking me. Still, you need to do this. You can’t avoid him forever, unless you mean to abandon Fenris altogether. Knowing his ex-master is still out there, likely biding his time.”

She shoved to her feet, stuffing the bundle of blade-care items into the pocket at her hip. “Damn you. You know I won’t do that.”

Varric inclined his head. “Then it’s time to face the tiger, as our Tevinter friend is fond of saying. And Talyn?”

“What?” She growled.

“Just remember that you aren’t the only one with, hmm, issues. You and the elf? You’re more alike than you think.”

“Thanks, Mother. I’ll just be going.”

“Good luck.”

She stormed from his suite, and Varric fought the urge to go after her. Stop her. Because he knew, he _knew_ she was going to be hurt. Hell, the fucking Elf might just break her and that was the last thing Varric wanted. It was going to kill him to see her in pain. But his sweet, fierce, damaged Turtle needed to learn that love, real love, deep and unending, was worth the misery. The only thing worse than loving and having that love dashed, in Varric’s opinion, was refusing to ever love at all.

_Fuck, that’s some good shit. I should use it in a book._

* * *

Talyn fumed all the way to her estate. She grumbled under her breath while she collected Fenris’ book. She cursed and stomped from her front door to his, hissing at a group of shady characters who looked like they might want to try and take her on. They proved smarter than they looked, quickly moving off.

She jerked open his door, holding her temper enough not to slam the heavy thing, and ground her teeth as she quietly stalked up the stairs to his suite. The hour was late and if she was lucky, Fenris would be asleep and she could simply leave the book in his room and go home without him ever knowing she’d been there. 

Lifting her hand to the wall beside the open door, she pressed her palm against the cool stone and tried to cool her ire. If she charged in there and threw the book at Fenris, she’d only set the tone for a confrontation, whether he were awake or not. Perhaps if she went in with gentle words and an open face, he’d be more inclined to at least be civil, should they speak at all. 

Squaring her shoulders, she shifted into the door jamb, hesitant to enter the room without announcing herself. But the scene before her rooted her in place. She shivered, jaw dropping, hands turned clammy against the leather binding of the book, and tried to look away. But she could not.

Fenris stood naked before the fireplace, his glorious flesh laid bare. The lyrium shimmered in the soft glow, each vein curling, elaborate, drawing the eye to the perfection of his musculature, the beauty of his build, sleek, lithe, _dangerous_. His muscles didn’t bulge with excess mass, their strength in the fluidity of their movement, the subtle shift of olive skin over power as his right arm moved slowly up, then down. His shoulders weren’t overly broad, but they were strong, the trapezius sculpted and defined.

His head was dropped back, face tilted toward the ceiling. Talyn swallowed hard as her eyes devoured the long expanse of his neck, watched tension pull at his pectorals, gaze drifting lower, counting each abdominal muscle, six, seven, eight. Her fingers clenched, heart pounding, nipples tightening painfully against their bindings, as her eyes finally focused on what Fenris was doing.

His cock, thick, long, glowing the faintest blue from the markings which swirled from its crown to its base was enveloped in his sure grip. Fenris had no body hair, there was nothing to hinder her gaze as his fist bottomed against his groin, twisting, tightening, before gliding back up, torturously slow.

Her mouth was so dry, tongue stuck behind her teeth, as she watched his free hand smooth over his hard belly, and up, until two fingers took the tiny bud of a nipple between then, pinching at first, before twisting the dusky flesh and pulling hard enough to tear a grunt from the elf’s mouth. Her own nipple tingled with empathetic pleasure/pain and her sex swelled, liquid need slicking the lips, her inner thighs, dampening her smalls.

His hand moved faster, harder, roughly stroking the weapon between his legs until first a drop, then a smear, or pre-cum glistened at its tip. Fenris’ other hand moved to the neglected nipple, repeating the earlier pinching and twisting, until his breath came on a loud moan and, lost in passion, he cried out.

“Yes… Hawke.”

Maker, her knees trembled, then shook. Fenris, the man she was so sure couldn’t stand the sight of her, the elf she was certain did not count her as friend, was… fantasizing about _her_. And she was watching him. _Oh, shit, oh, shit, I have to go, I can’t deal with this._ She must have made some noise, some panicked whimper, because his head whipped toward her, emerald green eyes locking with hers.

“You.” 

The way he said the word, she didn’t know if it was a curse or prayer. Not that it mattered, not when his entire body seized and come exploded from his body. His gaze didn’t leave hers as he continued to fuck his hand and she remained frozen in place, watching his beautiful face contort with pleasure, hearing the moans rumbling from his chest.

When the last explosion rippled down his back, one final shot of viscous fluid spewing from the head of his cock to slip, shiny and slick, onto the skin of his hand, Talyn was finally free. She dropped the book and whirled around, ignoring the stairs and instead leaping over the balustrade and straight to the ground floor, feet eating up the distance between her body and the door of Fenris’ estate as though an Archdemon itself chased her.

She didn’t even bother to make sure the door closed behind her. There was only one thought in Hawke’s mind and it was _escape_. Her entire body was on fire, her mind a screaming mess of incoherent thoughts, of uncovered desires, of needs she tried so hard to ignore but now would not be refused.

Her footing slid on loose flagstone and she scrambled to right herself, chest burning, limbs tingling as though she’d held her breath too long. Where could she go? Anders, she could go to Anders. No, no, Fenris wouldn’t be deterred by the ex-Warden, but more than that it wouldn’t be fair to the other mage. Talyn knew he had feelings for her, and running to him in order to hide from the chaos Fenris unleashed in her would only hurt Anders.

Merrill would be no help, the woman still furious with Hawke for refusing her the _erulin’holm_. Oh, Merrill would let her in, might even try to offer her comfort, but if, when, Fenris came for her, the Dalish woman wouldn’t stand in his way.

Isabela might help, but Talyn had no idea where she was. She’d left the Hanged Man a few days before, saying she was tracking her relic. And Varric, the bastard, he’d sent her to Fenris in the first place. She wouldn’t even ask him.

The Chantry, but no, to go there would mean backtracking, going back toward Fenris. That wasn’t an option. As she rounded the corner to her home, she hesitated. Go home, or to Aveline? No, she wouldn’t bother the guard-captain. The other woman might help her, but considering the little hell Hawke had put her through when Aveline had asked for her aid in wooing Donnic, Talyn was sure her red-haired friend was more likely to enjoy watching Talyn struggle.

She didn’t want to go home. Mother was there, and Bodahn, and Orana. She didn’t want anyone to see her in this state, but she was out of options. She didn’t need to look behind her to know Fenris would be following. Oh, Maker, she didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want him to see how confused, how frightened, how aroused he made her. She couldn’t handle him, had so little control.

Panic bloomed in her chest, tightened like a vice, stealing her breath. It was home, or running through Kirkwall all night. _Fuck it. I’m running._

Pivoting, she shot past her home and down, toward the empty market. She crested the top of the stairs leading to Lowtown, but wind milled back when Fenris pushed off from the wall of the first landing.

“Why must you always run?”

She stumbled, turned, ran into a wide pillar, was trying to skirt past the unmovable stone, when his uncovered hand took hold of her upper arm, freezing her where she stood more thoroughly than any glyph of paralysis.

“Why do I always chase you?”

She said nothing, heart beating like a bird trapped in a cage, throat closed with fear. He turned her, shifted her until her back was pressed against the column that had thwarted her escape. She lifted her free hand, to push him away, to pull him closer, to strike him, Talyn didn’t know.

He caught her wrist in his grip, lifting her arm above her head, holding it against the cool stone. The fingers around her arm slid down, encircling her other hand, bringing it to rest beside the first. He leaned close, and she turned her cheek to the rock, squeezing her eyes closed, the tiniest whimper squeaking from her lips.

“Look at me.” His words whispered against her ear.

She tried to hide her shudder, knew she failed.

“Look at me.” Demanding, forceful, the faintest touch of his lips against her skin.

Another whimper, louder, as she shook her head.

He shifted, moving to hold both her wrists in one hand, the other skimming over her side, not touching but nearly so, until his palm curved around her hip, fingers digging in. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough she couldn’t ignore him. He nudged her legs farther apart with his own, making space between her thighs for his hips, before he pulled her, the strength of his hand on her body shifting her until the heat of him pressed tightly to the soft, wet center of her.

She started to shake, and he pushed closer, his pelvis rotating, stimulating the heart of her passion. She tried to press her face harder into the stone, but there was no escape, no hiding.

His tongue traced the column of her neck and she struggled, but he only held her harder, tighter. The scrape of his teeth broke first a soft moan, then a ragged breath, the an almost keening sound when he bit down, gently but with purpose, against the tight cord of tendon straining in her neck.

“Look at me and I’ll give you your release.”

She shook again, unsure what she wanted more: free of him and this insanity or continuing to hide her eyes so he would not see her vulnerability. Her panicked need for freedom won out and she slowly turned her head, forcing her eyes open to meet his dark green gaze.

“Better.” His hand slipped from her hip, moving down her thigh, pulling her leg up until the crook of her knee rested at his waist.

“You said you’d release me.” Her voice quivered, fear, desire, anxiety, _need_ pushing her control to the breaking point.

“I said I’d give you your release. And so I shall.”

His lips took hers and his hips shifted, his intent clear as his ground his lower body against hers. Talyn arched, eyes slamming closed, wanting away from him, and closer to him at the same time. Her head spun, the taste of him in her mouth, his scent filling her lungs. Her mouth opened, to protest, to beg, and Fenris took the kiss deeper, tongue dancing with hers, teeth scraping over swollen, sensitive lips. 

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back and her eyes fluttered open. She watched his gaze travel over her face and wondered, for a moment, what he saw, what he thought.

“I have been thinking of you. In fact, I’ve been able to think of little else.” He dipped his head, his face brushing the curve of her neck, breathing her in. “For years, I’ve called myself fool. I’ve wanted you, even though I should not. The smell of your skin, the grip of your fingers, the sound of your ecstasy as I came apart in your arms, these things torment me, invade my dreams and my waking hours, and still I _hunger_ for you. A mage.”

He pulled back, shifting so the evidence of his desire was unavoidable. “I stroke myself, and it’s your name on my lips when I find relief. Your face I see in my mind. I wonder what you look like, beneath your rogue’s armor, if your breasts are as small as they seem or if they’d over flow my hands.

“I want to taste you. Tease your nipples until you beg me to take them into my mouth. Watch the flush rise over your skin as pleasure overwhelms you. What sounds would you make while I learn your body, discover all the places that make you quiver and moan with passion. Watch as you grow slick beneath my fingers, the petals of your sex unfurling, asking in the way only a woman can to be taken, to be filled."

Her eyes slammed closed, she could no longer watch the hot flame in his eyes grow brighter. It was too much and not enough and overwhelming her, until all she cared about, all that existed, was Fenris, his body, his voice, his touch.

“I drive myself mad, imagining the taste of you. Salty and sweet, earthy and exotic? My mouth aches to be open over your body, nipping, sucking, licking every inch. And I cannot stop. I have tried, for years, but every day I wake hard, painfully so, at just the thought of you. And when we are together, it takes all my control not to throw you down and take you. To bury myself as far beneath your skin as you are under mine."

Talyn was so hot, delirious with desire, his words more potent than any ale, as erotic as the actual slide of flesh into flesh. The images he painted behind her closed lids, coupled with the hot surge of his cock against her clitoris, shoved her right to the edge of orgasm. She began to groan, wordless sounds, and move her own body, undulating, begging, seeking this thing he offered so beguilingly.

“Yes, Hawke, that’s it. Imagine it. My cock, hard and thick, filling you over and over as I ride you. Will you turn your face from me, when I bring you, again and again to the peak of release? Would you cry out my name, your body greedily milking mine when you finally come, fingers cutting into my back, thighs like a vice, holding me deep inside, refusing to let me go until I join you? Until my seed fills you so full it slips from your body, like hot silk staining your skin.”

Her mouth fell open, hands balled into fists beneath his grasp, as the cord between them drew taut, vibrating but a breath from snapping. He released her wrists, hand dropping to curl around her neck, thumb stroking her jaw.

“Look at me, Talyn. I want to see your eyes when you come.” 

“Fenris!” Her eyes flew open as the first wave of pleasure tore through her. She couldn’t stop the harsh, sobbing sounds of ecstasy that ripped from her mouth as every muscle in her body tightened and released. She was swept away, torn asunder, left adrift in an ocean of sensation she couldn’t begin to fathom.

“You are beautiful.” His gaze never left hers as he took her mouth, her cries, and swallowed them, giving her back his own groan when he shuddered against her, straining hard, hips jerking, as he crested the peak with her.

They hung there, suspended in a sphere where only they existed, bodies cleaved together in passion and torment for a long time, until the weight of dispelled desires and overwrought emotion pushed them apart. Talyn locked her quivering knees, staggering away from him, feeling too raw, too exposed.

“I have to go. Mother will be worried.” She couldn’t look at him.

“Hawke.” His voice was soft, beseeching.

“Please, Fenris. Just let me go.”

He sighed, a heavy sound in the still night. “For now, I’ll do as you wish.”

She trembled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This isn’t over.”

As she straightened her spine and walked away, she didn’t bother responding. She, perhaps more than Fenris, realized it had only just begun. When a single tear spilled down her cheek, Talyn hadn't even the will to swipe it away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving in isn't always about surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sexual content ahead. Reader discretion is advised.

Talyn wanted nothing more than a few days of solitude after the explosive encounter with Fenris. She felt… fragile. Uncomfortable in her own skin, unsure how to deal with frazzled nerves, Talyn stubbornly ignored the gnawing urge to find the elf responsible and shake him until he fixed the mess he’d made.

She felt like she was on the verge of a breakdown, as she struggled to fit all of the new, unknown emotions Fenris had stirred up within her, into proper little boxes in her head, trying to regain some control. But they wouldn’t stay where she shoved them, spilling off mental shelves, bleeding their contents over her psyche.

The elf arrived at her mansion early the following morning and broke his fast with her and her mother. He seemed relaxed, at ease, as he spoke carefully of the Imperium and told edited versions of some of the misadventures he and Talyn had shared. In short, he charmed Leandra with his warm voice and soft smiles and Hawke was sure she gaped at him as if he’d grown another head.

For once, her mother didn’t say anything. Instead, the older woman gave her daughter an odd look, love brimming in her eyes, before leaving the table, saying, “I think I’ll go write a letter to the Lady Beatrice, letting her know we won’t be attending her ball.”

Alone at the table, Talyn narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell are you doing here, Fenris? I can count on two fingers the number of times you’ve been to my home, and they certainly weren’t to socialize. Maker, why must you vex me so!” She hissed the words on a low breath, wanting to scream, but needing to avoid drawing unwanted attention to their conversation more. Andraste knew, her mother would be after her as soon as Talyn was alone, wanting to know why Fenris had be at their home while the sun still shone. 

“For the same reason you run from me, I suppose. It’s my nature.”

Oh, how she wanted to hit him for that remark. _I’ve only ever run from you, blighted nug-humper._ Talyn clenched her teeth, forcing her breath out slowly. “I’ve things to do today, Fenris. Mage things.”

“Then I shall accompany you.”

She lunged at him over the table, curling her fingers in the nape of his leathers and jerking him forward. “Leave me be, or so help me, Fenris.” 

His armored hand closed over hers. “I don’t like this anymore than you, but I cannot go on as I have. This unbearable tension must end.”

She pulled free of his grasp, knees shaky as she left the table. She felt the weight of his gaze as she left the room and silently agreed with his assertion. The only question in Hawke’s mind was whether or not ending the tension would destroy them or remake them.

* * *

By the time Hawke and her shadow trudged into the Hanged Man nearly two weeks later, Varric was truly beginning to believe the path to the Black City was paved with good intentions. Talyn was on edge, though he doubted anyone else would notice the small things he saw, the slight flexing of her fingers, the way her eyes were hooded, the red mark on her full lower lip, proof she’d been chewing at the corner in frustration. It wouldn’t take much to push her right over the precipice.

“Tell him to get away from me, please.” Her voice was pitched low, eyes boring into Varric’s, pleading.

“Is he really that bad? Aveline says the two of you have carved the city’s streets clean of riff raff over the past fortnight.”

Hawke turned on Fenris as he neared Varric’s suite, her body blocking the doorway and growling like a she-wolf protecting cubs. “Go do something else for a few minutes, Fenris. I’m going to talk to Varric and you _are not_ invited to listen.”

The dwarf couldn’t see Broody’s face, but he heard a responding tremble in an octave too low for Talyn. “I will be at the bar. Do not think to leave without me.”

“And have you drag me, kicking and screaming, through Lowtown? No thanks.”

Hawke spun around, walked two paces into Varric’s room, and slammed the door with enough force to crack the frame. Dust and debris sifted down from the ceiling as she took slow, deep breaths, struggling to find her center of calm.

“So… You look a bit stressed, Hawke.” Varric could almost hear the sound of her teeth grinding against each other and the look of pure malice in her eyes made him glad, for once, that the roguish mage was shit with fire.

“I don’t think there is a word in Common that comes close to defining _what_ I am right now, Varric.” She jerked out the chair closest to her and threw her body into it, rocking it back on two legs, where it held for a precarious moment, before she slammed all four feet back onto the floor.

“Start from the beginning, then. I haven’t, hell no one, has seen you since I told you to take him that book.”

Talyn squeezed her eyes shut, and a strange, guttural groan spilled from her mouth. “I gave him the book, well, I tried to but I caught him… fuck… having a wank. Apparently, with me as the star of his fantasy. So, yeah, long story short, the Elf decided – fuck Varric I don’t actually know what he decided. To pursue me, I guess. This is such a Maker-be-damned mess.”

Varric’s head was spinning. Hawke’s bluntness didn’t surprise him. She trusted him, knew he didn’t make judgments, so she’d learned long ago just to let the cards fall as they willed. Really, it was the idea that the ex-slave was bent on trying to seduce Hawke, a mage, which had him shaking his head in absolute befuddlement. 

“So, what, you’ve spent the last two weeks trying to run him off?”

“I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to run him off, ignore him, avoid him, anything to get him to go away. I can’t handle the shit he stirs up in me.” She looked up from her hands, and the emotions swirling in her eyes made Varric’s heart skip a beat. “I’m fucking terrified, Varric. I think, I think I might be in big trouble here. If I give in to him and it doesn’t go right, I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive.”

“Talk to me, Turtle.”

“Look, moving around to keep Father and Bethany safe, I stopped trying to make friends or get to know people by the time I was six or seven. It just hurt too badly when we had to leave in the middle of the night to escape Templars. By the time I was a teenager, hell, I was damn near reclusive, couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me. Father tried to help, to get me to open up, but it never worked. Not even when we finally settled in Lothering. And then, when Father died, when I could have saved him if I hadn’t been addled by golden hair and a firm, young body – I shut down. I had to be strong, someone did, when he was gone. Bethy and Carver, they were little more than babies. Mother was a shell of herself, barely getting out of bed most days.

“I love my family. I would kill for them, die for them. But they’ve also been the greatest source of my failings. I know, I seem hard, cold, but that was the only way I could keep going, be strong, take care of what I was left responsible for after Father was gone. After Carver. I don’t know another way.”

“And Broody is picking away at your walls?”

“With an axe. It’s not easy, natural. You, you damnable dwarf, you slipped under the radar, earned my trust carefully. Don’t think I even realized I’d let you in until you were already there, comfortable and content.” She paused to look at him, giving him a small smile.

“What can I say, m’lady? It’s a talent.”

She snorted. “For certain. But Fenris, he’s a fucking battering ram. I hate him for it, but I need it from him too. And that’s what has me ready to jump out your window and take the first ship back to Ferelden this moment.”

“What do you mean, you need ‘it’ from him?”

“I don’t know how to explain ‘it’. It’s like,” she paused, worrying her lower lip. “Last night, we were in the middle of the docks, screaming at each other about mages and slaves, me telling him freedom should be everyone’s right, and him bellowing about mages having unfair advantage. All of a sudden, we were attacked by those damn Raiders. And just like that, I knew it didn’t matter that we had been this close,” she held up the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, spread only far enough apart to see light between them and no more, “to punching each other out. He had my back, without reservation. He threw himself into the group, right beside me, protecting me, fighting with me. He would die for me, a mage, and I don’t understand why.”

“All of us would die for you, Hawke. You know that.”

“It’s not the same. After we cleared out that mansion, Fenris could have refused to have anything more to do with me. He didn’t. If I go to him, ask him to accompany me, it’s always a yes. There’s never anything more pressing. 

“Anders has the clinic, Merrill her damn obsession with the _Eluvian_. Aveline has the guard, Isabella that fucking relic, and you with the Merchant’s Guild and House Tethras business. Sebastian has his head so far up the Grand Cleric’s arse it’s a wonder the woman can move two steps without wincing and then there’s Fenris, seemingly with nothing more important than whatever I need. He knows Danarius will come for him, but it’s not his focus. He asked for my help with Hadriana, but only after the bitch’s people had attacked us, not before.”

Varric pondered her words and nodded his head. Everyone in Hawke’s sphere had something else, something more than Talyn, except Fenris. And for a girl like her, who had only been of import for what she could do, and not for herself, the dwarf understood what Talyn had such a hard time expressing.

“He respects you, Hawke. He doesn’t have to agree with your politics for that.” Varric leaned forward, pressing his palms flat against the table.

“How can he possibly respect me? All he does is slander my kind. But it doesn’t matter how many times we might come to blows, or come close, because Fenris is always there, without fail or question, when I need him. And despite his hatred for mages, despite the vile way we rage at each other, he’s still there. No matter how hard I push him away, regardless of my choices, he is steadfast. I _need_ that, I need him.

“Anyway, he wants to fuck me, Varric, and that doesn’t have shit to do with respect. He damn near has already.”

“I’m sorry? Did you say you almost slept with Fenris?”

“No, I said he’s already almost fucked me. Came so hard I could barely walk back to my estate and I was so bloody confused, all tied up in knots, but peaceful too… See! I feel like, if we ever actually get in a bed – it might not be rutting at all.” Her eyes, bright with so many emotions Varric had never seen in them before, begged him for help or maybe mercy.

“Hawke,” Varric sighed and slipped from his seat. He walked to her, taking her shaking hands in his own. “Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to stop the coming storm. Either you look it in the eye and take the chance at being swept away or you drown in the deluge because you’re too afraid to accept what’s coming.”

She laughed softly. “Neither of those are appealing, Dwarf.”

“The Elf is damaged goods, Turtle. I don’t imagine this is easier for him. And maybe this is a disaster waiting to happen. But let me ask you, would you regret? If you managed to get him to go away? Would you regret?”

She looked down at their interwoven fingers, her head dropping, shoulders pulling in. “Yes.” The word wasn’t even a whisper, so soft it was almost lost in the faint exhale of her breath.

“Then there’s your answer.”

Talyn sighed and withdrew her hands from Varric’s. She shook her head. “I suppose so.” With a weary roll of her neck, Hawke stood. “I’ll see you later, Varric. Maybe I’ll drag the dour bastard down here for Wicked Grace. The game is still on tomorrow, right?”

“Same day, same time, Turtle.”

"Maybe I'll see you then.” Straightening her shoulders, she strode to the door and jerked it open with a hard pull. Fenris leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. Hadn't even had the decency to go to the bar. “Let’s go, Broody.”

“Where are we going, Hawke?”

Talyn glanced over her shoulder at Varric before she answered the elf. “Home. We’re going to the estate.”

* * *

“No, Bodahn, nothing is wrong. I just want you to take Sandal and Orana out for the night. You three spend too much time cooped up here. Go, take them to see the new play in the amphitheater. It’s a comedy and Aveline said it was delightful.”

“If you’re certain, Messere.” Bodahn looked at the small pouch of sovereigns Talyn handed him.

“Please, poor Orana has known nothing but slavery, Bodahn. I want you to help show her why being free is so much better.” Hawke pitched her voice low and watched her manservant’s face soften.

“You are so good to us, to all of us, Mistress Hawke.” He reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze and Talyn stopped herself from pulling away. 

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Bodahn released her and called to Sandal and Orana, shuffling the pair off through the kitchen to collect their things before they left. 

Talyn sighed, thankful her plan was working. Mother was at some society party and wouldn’t be home for hours. With only Tabris left, Hawke returned to the foyer and Fenris. She closed the door behind her, leaning into the wood for support.

“Why have you sent away your staff?” Fenris rose from his seat on the bench but made no move to come closer.

“Are you really asking me that?”

He took three steps toward her. “Command me to go and I shall.”

Pushing off from the door, she held his gaze as she walked to him. Lifting her hand, she thrust her fingers deep into his lush, white locks. “Shut up.”

Despite the trembling of her limbs, Talyn pulled his mouth to hers, crushing the soft, pink flesh against her own, her other arm wrapping around his waist, holding his body tight to hers. His tongue teased the seam of her lips and she opened, took him inside and relished the flavors dancing over her taste buds. 

Fenris tasted of apples, the tangy honeyed essence so much better from his mouth. His arms came up, fingers lightly clinging to her shoulders and Hawke pulled back, spinning them around and slamming his lithe body into the wall at her back. He grunted, pupils blooming until only a sliver of deepest green rimmed the darkness.

Needing to keep some control, she released him, stepped away. Her hand landed on the door latch and she pulled the heaven wooden barrier open, gaze leaving his only when she passed through the opening and could no longer see him. Shoulders back, chin up, she strode up the stairs to her room. Talyn didn’t look back, didn’t cast a glance over her shoulder to see if the elf followed.

She didn’t need to, her magic snapped and popped in her veins, reacting to whatever it was between them, as surely as it responded to the lyrium embedded in his flesh. The door to her room stood open, and she swung around the edge of it, watching him enter the place she reserved only for herself… and occasionally Tabris. This space was her sanctuary, her safe harbor. The immensity of what she was about to do hit her, deep in her chest, and she bit her lip to contain the rush of air from her body. Schooling her features, she closed the door.

_Would you regret?_ Varric’s words floated through her mind, giving her the strength to quash her fears. She had much guilt, but in honest self-reflection she knew those were not burdens of regret. Her guilt stemmed from her failures, real or perceived, but not from a lack of action.

She was tired, so very tired of fighting against the relentless tide of Fenris, and her own resounding wave of need. She wanted him to crash over her, to lay bare her secrets, and take her regardless of them. She longed for him, she hungered for him, and with him she didn’t feel alone. Talyn trusted Fenris, felt protected in his presence, knew no fear so long as his steady strength and his deadly skill were at her side. She looked into his green eyes, shadowed and secretive as her own, and understood she loved the elf, this ex-slave who still didn’t understand what freedom really was. She loved him in a way no words could convey, selflessly, wantonly, with every beat of her heart and every swell of her lungs.

There was no one who needed to know love, to have it given without strings and demands, more than Fenris. Her elf needed to understand the chains still binding him were of his own forging and could be broken if only he _believed_ he was worthy: worthy to be free, worthy to be the master of his life, worthy of love.

If nothing else came of this night, she would show him his value, with every caress of her hands, every stroke of her tongue. He would know love in its truest form.

She stilled the shaking of her fingers as she lifted her hand to the catch of her finery. A slow tug, a short jerk, and the robe slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet, leaving her naked beneath his gaze. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, saw his gauntleted hands curl at his sides. 

With measured steps, she made her way to him. His body was tense, drawn tight, muscles flexing beneath his leathers. Careful, as though he were a wild thing and not a man, she reached out, laying her palm gently against his face. His eye lids dipped, his breathing grew shallow, and he shivered beneath her touch.

“Fenris.” His name was a benediction on Talyn’s lips, whispered softly in the orange glow of the fire.

Dropping her palm to his shoulder, she drew her fingers over his armor, quick and clever, the skills of a lifetime served her well as she divested him of his coverings. Gone went the chest protection, the sharp, spiked gauntlets. When he stood before her only in his leggings, she pulled away and simply took him in.  
Lyrium, in patterns she didn’t recognize but were familiar nonetheless, drew exquisite, amazing patterns from his throat to his navel, continuing down beneath the cloth still encasing his legs. He was breathtaking, his olive skin the perfect canvas for the terrible beauty forced on Fenris by the magister he had served.

“May I,” she lifted her gaze to his, “touch you?” Her voice came out hushed, throaty and low.

“Please.” 

One word, but the power of it nearly buckled her knees. Talyn’s breath caught as she placed her index finger against the lyrium vein on his chin. The both sucked in quick breaths, a current of passion and heat throbbing from the place her skin touched his, and out through them both.

His eyes flashed wide at the sensation and Talyn caught her lip between her teeth in response. She traced the tattoo, down his throat, one finger becoming two, then both hands as the came to the dip in his clavicle. Spreading her fingers, she followed the path laid out, watching as the potent ore dipped and swirled, over the curve of both shoulders, down the sinuous strength of his arms, back up again, coming together at the focal point of his power, the place where all lines converged. She flattened her palm over that spot, felt the rapid thrum of his heart beneath her skin.

“Your tattoos, they are of sigils and runes. I can’t read them, but I sense their familiarity.”

He said nothing as she began tracing his skin once more, fingertips ghosting over the tight points of his masculine nipples, bumping over the taut edges of his abdominal muscles, stilling when Fenris hissed, his stomach contracting beneath her ministrations. Talyn sank to her knees before him, curling her fingers in the band at his waist, pulling his leggings off as she descended.

His cock, slowly revealed, stood long and thick, curving slightly toward his body. Even here, the nightmarish exquisiteness of lyrium enhanced his perfection, each line carefully drawn to bring about the most power, to demand the viewer fall to their knees in awe of the lithe, sleek, dangerous manifestation of lethal and predatory supremacy that was Fenris.

The elf’s body shook and a tiny bead of glistening desire appeared at the crown of his glans. Talyn looked up his body, her eyes seeking and finding the green of his, tormented and slumberous at the same time.

“May I,” she licked her lower lip, “taste you?”

Suddenly his naked hand was buried in her hair, fingers tightening almost painfully.

“Talyn.” Her name was ragged on his lips, his low voice sending shivers over her skin, tightening the knot of nerves at the apex of her sex.

She took her name as approval and shifted onto her knees, sliding her hands over the strength of his calves and thighs, fingers tingling as she caressed ever lyrium brand, showing him with her touch that the markings he never wanted didn’t frighten her. They were part of Fenris and she wanted all of him. Loved all of him.

Settling her palms on either side of his hips, she leaned forward to breath across his shaft, watching as the lyrium began to glow softly. With a quick tongue, she swiped away the drop of precome, humming in her throat as she learned his flavor. Salty, strong, spicy, she opened her mouth over the head of his cock and took him into her mouth.

“Talyn.” Guttural, her name tumbled from his throat as his head fell back.

She went slowly, pressing her face forward until the tip of him bumped the back of her throat. Swallowing, she tilted her chin and he slid deeper, until her nose was pressed against the downy soft smattering of hair curled at the base of his cock.

“ _Venhedis._ ” The hand in her hair tightened as he growled his pleasure.

Swallowing again, she stilled the buck of his hips as she drew back, stopping when only the head was trapped between her lips, to swirl and glide her tongue around his girth. Her jaw ached, but it was a good throb, and drew her nipples tight. Undulating the length of her tongue against the underside of his shaft, suckling hard, she began to rock on her knees as she pleased the man before her.

“Talyn, Talyn, I will not last-“ His words were cut off by a low moan as she moved her hands, one circling the base of his cock, the other softly grasping the heavy warmth of his sac. 

She rolled the fragile eggs between her fingers, saliva slipping from her mouth as she absorbed every groan, every shudder, the sweet pain of pulled hair, the dark flavor of precome as it flowed freely from his body. She sucked and lathed, stroked and pressed, until she felt him bow above her. The first hot jet of his release caught her by surprise and she almost choked, but as his balls tightened in her grip, she took him to the root, whimpering as the second, third, fourth ejaculation slid down her throat, hot, so hot, burning its way toward her belly.

Gently, she released his cock from her mouth, hands holding his thighs as his muscles jumped restlessly beneath her fingers. She felt his fingers untangle from her hair, closed her eyes and moaned against his palm when he curved his flesh against her cheek. With gentle pressure, he tilted her head back, searching her face for what she did not know. But whatever he saw pleased him, his mouth lifting with a smile.

Cupping her jaw, he traced his unguarded thumb over her lower lip, the pulled her to her feet with the slightest pressure beneath her chin. His arms came around her, drawing her flush against the heat of his body, his mouth covering hers.

* * *

Fenris tasted himself on her lips and the desire she’d so selflessly released but moments before came rushing back, harder, faster, deeper than ever. Not even the night in the abandoned market could compare with the need tearing through his body. He groaned into her, one hand sliding up the supple length of her spin to twine in the thick hair at the base of her neck, the other dropping to grip the firm curve of her ass.

Talyn leaned into him, the tight points of her breasts burning his skin. Her arms came around his shoulders, the long fingers of her hands alternately digging into his back and burrowing into his hair. At the first press of his tongue, her lips parted eagerly, her tongue thrusting into his mouth, dueling with his, and he fell into her, the taste of his seed, the subtle hint of the honey she’d had with their meal, and the sweet zest of Hawke’s desire spun the world away until all that existed was her.

His body moved of its own volition, directing their entwined limbs to the edge of her bed. With harsh breaths, he stopped kissing her and pressed her back onto the plush blankets. She went, her body supple, beautiful, and all he wanted to do was worship her. Her breasts, the dusky pink centers hard, the plump flesh larger than he’d thought, lifted with her breaths, drawing first his gaze, then his hands, and finally, as he settled himself next to her, his mouth.

Talyn’s hands furrowed into his air and he set his tongue to her skin, nails scraping his scalp as he paid homage to her nipples. Her skin was soft and warm, and she tasted clean, crisp, that faintest traces of lightning and citrus. Drawing one hand up her body, he watched the softly defined muscles of her abdomen quiver beneath his touch, heard the sharp intake of breath as he took the crown of her other breast between thumb and forefinger, pinching, rolling, tugging until her hips shimmied and she spoke.

“Please, Fenris, please.”

Never had he heard his name said that way, with longing and need but without malice or command. Talyn demanded nothing, she _asked_ only for what he would give. Shifting, he traced his tongue across her chest, her shiver drawing his cock to painful readiness, to taste her other nipple. He suckled the flesh, first gently, then harder, and when he applied his teeth, wanting to mark her in some way, her hips left the bed and the hand in his hair tightened, pulling strands, the sting only pushing him closer to the edge of oblivion.

“I need you, Fenris.” She rolled toward him, catching his lower lip between her teeth, biting down, releasing him only to open her lips wider and offer him her tongue, which he gladly accepted, giving her back his own as he moved to rise above her.

He wanted to do so much more, to taste the honey-slicked lips of her sex, the thrust his fingers deep inside her and watch her come undone, but that wasn’t to be. He needed to be inside her, finally buried deep between her legs. The rest would wait, for he could no longer do so.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open and their gazes locked as he fit the tip of himself against her body. She was so wet, the silken feel of her drawing a growl from his chest. With gentleness Fenris didn’t believe he was capable of, he pushed forward, slowly, and nearly lost himself. Her body rippled, so tight, so agonizingly resistant, the walls of her sex quivering around him.

He struggled, fighting the urge to spread her thighs wider and sink himself to the hilt with a single thrust. Her eyes widened as he gave her another inch of himself, her strong fingers digging into his forearms, the magic in her skin tingling against the lyrium in his, pleasure streaking through every vein, within and without.

“More Fenris, Maker, give me more.” Her voice was harsh, beneath her words of whimper of hunger.

And he pressed deeper, one hand shifting to her hip and down, gripping her thigh and drawing it upward to rest at his waist. She tilted her body, taking more, her eyes never leaving his as he finally seated himself where he had for so long ached to be. She moved again, pulling her other leg along his body, until he was enveloped by her. Holding himself on his palms, he withdrew, and slowly pushed back, his body shaking and sweat beading his brow.

Talyn’s hands moved from his arms, stroking upward, over his shoulders, and down, fingertips dancing over the tattoos on his back, gently curving over the dip at the base of his spine before finding purchase in the hard muscles of his ass. She dug her fingers in and pulled him to her, hard, firm, a grunt leaving her lips.

“Yes.” Her lids dipped, shielding her eyes for a moment as her body tightened around him for a moment. “I will not break, Fenris. Please, I need to _feel_ you. Harder.”

He leaned down and took her mouth as he gave in to both of their desires. He slid back, then rushed forward, and she bowed beneath him, her body growing slicker, hotter, unbearably tighter, the fit so perfect he could have wept.

The prick of her nails spurred him on, and he let himself go, fell into her eyes, groaned loudly when her magic flared, and his markings responded, shifting away from her only to change their positions, to lift her knees over his elbows before plunging forward, harder, faster, so deep he felt the mouth of her womb at the end of every stroke.

“Fenris! Fenris!” Her hands lost their purchase, were instead flailing next to her head on the bed, scrabbling for a something to hold onto.

He took her fists into his, spreading their fingers then marrying them together, his hands holding hers as tightly as hers did his, fingers digging deep, nails cutting as he rocked into her, his hips snapping against hers with each punishing, savage penetration. And still it wasn’t enough, he needed deeper, he wanted more, he had to taste her again.

Her body shook, and he felt the tiny, chaotic contractions begin in her sex. She was there, at the edge, and Fenris _had_ to see her crest the almost painful summit, to know it was he who had given her such pleasure.

He growled, his lips hovering over hers. “Come for me, Talyn. I want to see you come apart around me, beneath me.”

Her breath stalled in her chest and her eyes flashed open. The silver of her gaze met his a moment before magic exploded from her and she screamed his name, her body seizing as the orgasm ripped through and into him.

“Talyn.” A whisper as his world was turned upside down.

He was swept away, lyrium flaring to blinding life as he lost himself, his cock emptying with powerful bursts. Nothing had ever felt this good, he was drowning, her magic and his merging, energy surging from one to the other, and as he looked into her eyes, he found himself inside her, so deep inside her he could feel what she felt, each jerk of his prick, the hot flood of come, every near-pained contraction of her body around his as ecstasy pumped through her.

As the last wave rushed through him, over him, the blue-white flare of lyrium burning his vision away to nothing, the past came barreling toward him, dragging him under.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Downward spiral and cold
> 
> Dark themes of self-loathing, emotional trauma, alcohol abuse, and possible suicidal thoughts ahead. Please, reader discretion!!

_”All I wanted was to be happy. Just for a little while. Forgive me.”_

And with those words, Fenris had left her home. At first, Talyn hadn’t known what to do, how to react. She’d sat there on the bed where they’d just been together and tried to process exactly what had happened.

She’d awoke to find herself alone, Fenris dressed and standing before the fire. She’d asked if he was alright, if it had been alright.

_”It was better than anything I could have imagined.”_

But he’d said the past had come back to him, rushing in a flash, everything he’d lost when Danarius had branded him with lyrium. But that he’d lost it all again just as quickly. His face turned from her, she’d told him she would help him, she’d – Maker, she’d told him she cared for him – but he’d said it was too much, too soon.

Sitting on her bed, Talyn knew she should feel something, anything, but the pain was so far beyond everything she’d suffered before, she was empty. Hands clutched to her chest, body so cold, so numb, everything that had passed between them bloomed in vivid detail in her mind and she knew. She had given him a piece of herself, her soul, her eyes locked to his as their combined magics had wrapped around them. In that moment, she had been inside him as deeply as he was her.

Never, she swore she’d never let anyone in that far, that deep. She couldn’t help but love her family, a tiny piece of her dying as she’d lost first her father, then her brother, and her sister to the Warden’s. But choosing to love, oh Andraste, what had she done? She was so stupid, so reckless; she’d known this would happen. She seemed doomed to fail to learn that trying to take something for herself only ended in misery.

Why had he pursued her? Why? She wanted to rage, but the emotions would not flow out of her. In self-preservation, the minute he’d turned away from her, her mind, her will, had done the only thing it could. In order to shield her, to stop her from breaking apart, she’d walled herself off so thoroughly that though she could sense the crushing sadness looming, it was a distant sea crashing uselessly against the stone of a mighty keep.

Because she couldn’t lie down and wither. She had responsibilities, Mother and Gamlen and the Feddics and Orana, they needed her to be strong. As did Anders and Merrill, they needed her to protect them, though they chafed against it. The City itself was on the verge of chaos, the mighty Arishok and his Qunari at the end of their patience. She had to be strong, to stand against the storm and hold.

She lay back on the bed, curled in on herself, and thought the truth was finally exposed. Her worth was in the strength of her body, the skill of her blades, the power of her magic. She’d been an idiot to believe otherwise. Though she’d been determined to prove to Fenris he had worth beyond his martial prowess, she’d inadvertently been hoping he’d show Talyn that she was worthy as well. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

* * *

One week passed before Talyn left the estate. She sat listlessly in her room, poor Orana bringing her meals, helping her bathe, brushing her hair out. The small elf woman even played the lute for her, the soft plucking of strings carrying her into the fade each night. On the eighth morning, Hawke rose, dressed herself, and left the mansion. She went to the market, stopped into Lirene’s to see if the Ferelden woman needed anything, money, food, clothing for the refugees still trying to find a place in the City of Chains.

She did not, however, go into the Hanged Man, nor did she look for any of her friends. Instead, she took a trip to the Wounded Coast and then to Sundermount, where she spent the rest of the day sitting next to the Nexus Golem, letting her mind wander as the hum of the creatures strange magic lulled her into an emptiness where she forgot, for a moment, how terribly ‘wrong’ something was inside.

When Hawke returned home, she found Bodahn and Tabris both waiting for her, wearing almost identical worried looks. She did her best to ease them both, then retired to her room, a plan forming in her mind as she undressed and slipped between the clean sheets. Deep, deep inside, she sensed a scream of grief, the scent of Fenris’ body now lost to her, but the sensation was so far away, Talyn registered it, but could not sense the emotion.

As her eyes closed, Hawke laid out her plan one more time. In the Fade, demons were ever present, constantly trying to tempt the unlucky or foolish into a bargain that could only end in destruction. And that was what Talyn wanted. She searched the Fade, looking for the strongest, the most dangerous, the most powerful demons and offering herself like a glittering gem. But all refused. The demons avoided her, or tried to, as if she were a thing they could not abide. As if the taint of her broken soul was a thing even they reviled.

One month passed before she finally stopped trying to find a release or a resolution in the Fade. Four weeks of ignoring the letters and visits from Varric, Aveline, and Anders. Four weeks of learning how to exist without color or passion or even interest in what went on around her. She was forced to accept the situation, for even if she did not feel, those around her did, and her coldness, her detachment hurt them. 

So it was that on a bleary, cold morning, Talyn learned her accursed state was also a boon. She awakened early in the afternoon, if the light coming through her window was any indication. The night before came back in a rush, Aveline, Varric, Anders and she clearing out yet another ring of shady thugs who’d thought to menace the people of Lowtown. She’d returned home just as dawn’s first light colored the sky, collapsing into an exhausted heap on the bed.

Hawke sighed as she stretched, the sound of raised voices coming from downstairs. She’d come to an understanding about the almost Tranquil state in which she lived, but the yelling from the ground floor motivated her to get up. Whoever was shouting was clearly distressed. Stumbling from the bed, so cold her body ached, Talyn dressed quickly and made her way downstairs.

She found Gamlen yelling at Sandal, asking after Leandra.

“Lee-an-dra! Leandra!”

“I’m sorry, Serrah, but Mistress Amell left hours ago. I haven’t seen her all day.” Bodahn stepped up to Gamlen, trying to still the man’s ranting.

“What’s going on here?” Her voice was as cool, as calm as Hawke had ever heard and it scared her.

“Your mother. She was supposed to come to my house today. Like she does every week. We go to lunch, catch up. You know. But she didn’t arrive. I thought perhaps she’d forgotten.”

Talyn looked toward the top of the stairs. “Mother isn’t here, Gamlen. If she were, her door would be closed.”

“She went out as usual, Messere. Right after she received that lovely bouquet of white lilies.”

Talyn snapped her gaze to the manservant and deep inside, she sensed a bolt of panic, but the emotion did not come. “Did you say white lilies?”

“Yes.”

“Gamlen, go back to your house. Wait there.”

“What is it, girl? Do you know something?” Her uncle’s mouth thinned.

“There’s a killer, an evil thing that’s been murdering women for years in Kirkwall. He always sends his victims a bunch of white lilies before they disappear.”

Her uncle shook his head. “No, you’re wrong!”

“Deny it if you like, Uncle. It makes the truth no less true. I have to see Aveline. Get her help.”

Talyn went to the Viscount’s Keep. 

“Mother’s been taken. She received lilies this morning.”

The Guard-Captain’s face blanched, her fair skin becoming so pale Hawke feared she might drop to the ground.

“I’ll alert the men. We’ll find her, Hawke.”

Talyn nodded and left, headed for Lowtown. And deep inside, the tiny fragment of the child she’d once been shook with terror, but outwardly, Hawke was still as a deep pond. Not a ripple of reaction broke her surface.

She found her Uncle in Lowtown, questioning a child. Talyn offered him some coin and the boy told her all he knew. Showed her the bloody path her mother and the man intent on ending her life had left in their wake. She’d followed it, back to the foundry where she’d discovered the first of the murderer’s victims’ remains. 

She and Varric, Aveline and Anders fought their way through shades, skeletons, demons until they discovered the beast intent on stealing the last of Hawke’s family. But they were too late, too late to save Leandra, too late to stop the abomination before he left Talyn orphaned and alone.

She crumpled with the weight of the thing that had her mother’s face, and deep inside a voice was screaming with rage, and sorrow, and guilt. But thanks to Fenris, Talyn was steady and sure.

“I knew you would come.” Leandra’s voice was weak.

“I tried to find you.”

“Shh, don’t fret darling. That man would have kept me here. But now, I’m free. I’ll see you father again, and Carver. But you’ll be here all alone.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” Talyn looked into eyes, greyed with death, and wanted to howl, but nothing would come.

“My little girl has grown so strong. I love you. You have always made me so proud.”

Those last words and she’d left Kirkwall and Talyn behind.

* * *

Fenris came. Talyn looked at him, saw a strand of red about his wrist, noted the mark of her house on the pouch at his hip. Wearing her favor and offering little comfort, she thanked him for coming with a flat, emotionless stare, and felt another wall lift as she watched him go again.

For the next six months, Hawke turned to alcohol, not to drown her pain but in the hope that it would tear her emotions free. Wine and ale and spirits did little to help, creating tiny fissures though which a spurt of sorrow or agony would slip, but the holes were patched and shored up so fast the effort was useless. She nearly poisoned herself to death in the attempt, and the look on Anders' face when he’d found her, unconscious in a pool of her own filth, had only managed to reveal to him how fucked up she was.

“Talyn, you have to do something else. This isn’t working. You’re killing yourself.”

 _So irresponsible, what would your father think?_ Talyn heard her mother’s voice so clearly in her mind. 

“I know, Anders. And since that’s not my intention, I’ll stop.”

“Talyn, talk to me. What’s happened to you?” The mage searched her eyes, his own gaze turning hot and tight with rage. “It’s Fenris, isn’t it? What did he do to you?”

“I know you worry, Anders. I know you… care, but this isn’t something you can heal. Please, I’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit. If I thought killing him would help, I’d do it and to the void with what you think.”

She frowned. “I know. But it won’t help. I want to bathe.”

He made a frustrated growl and clenched his fists. “Fine.”

Life moved forward and by the first anniversary of her night with Fenris, Talyn had learned how to fake emotions. She’d also begun cutting herself, small slices on her arms and legs, tiny wounds that welled with hot, red, painful emotions. It was an act she’d first done when she was barely ten, something that had horrified her father when he’d discovered it. She’d sworn to him she would never do it again, but desperate times and a longing to _feel_ something pushed her to break her word.

Hawke sat on her bed, the blade of a razor pressed into the thick flesh of her thigh. Dozens of score marks marred the flesh in various stages of healing. Talyn could have removed the evidence of her actions, but seeing them helped and so she clung to them as she did to the cutting edge itself. A hiss, the sharp burn of rent flesh, and blood welled bringing with it pain, so much pain. The sensation wouldn’t last long, her will determined to protect her despite her desire for wholeness.

Thoughts of her mother flashed and a dry sob caught in her throat. She still couldn’t cry, the tears didn’t even form, but they weren’t necessary. Why hadn’t she been faster, why hadn’t she tried harder? Her failure and now she was alone in a massive home, surrounded by the past and memories she couldn’t escape.

Too soon, the blood stopped seeping and so did her feelings. With a sigh, Talyn shifted on the bed and drew the covers over herself. She’d promised Isabela she’d help her retrieve the relic and Hawke was certain she needed to be well-rested for the recovery. She knew the pirate wasn’t being completely honest and with tensions at their breaking point in the city, Talyn sensed Isabela’s relic, Aveline’s elves, and the Qunari were all connected. The question was, what would break the camel’s back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating more regularly until the work is complete, which I expect to be another six-eight chapters. Thanks to everyone for reading and rating. I appreciate your patience!
> 
> addenda: this chapter and the two that follow have a very different tone - hopefully it manages to convey the changes in Talyn like I hoped. Also, there won't be anything else from Fenris' POV until the very end - again, reinforcing how very insulated Hawke has become.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qunari, feeling something and Danarius.
> 
> Graphic violence, reader discretion advised.

“You are _basalit-an_ , you alone are worthy of my respect.”

Hawke had been right. Isabela's relic was in fact a sacred text the Arishok had been ordered to retrieve. He and his men had been trapped in Kirkwall until they had it in their possession, which Isabela had known all along. And the pirate, true to herself above all else, had used Talyn as a distraction so she could steal it once more and escape the city, her Rivaini skin safe. Really, the elves Aveline had wanted to retrieve from their conversion were simply icing on a cake. The last insult the Arishok would suffer.

And that was how Talyn Hawke found herself in the Viscount's throne room, head of said leader rolling about at her feet, looking up at the Arishok in a room full of terrified Kirkwall nobility. As she looked over the massive male, Talyn suspected having the Arishok’s respect didn’t mean the end of the conflict. Fighting her way through the city had been bad enough, partly because she sympathized with the Qunari. Kirkwall _was_ a festering wound on the face of Thedas. Still, the Qun wasn’t the cure for the sickness.

“How do you suggest we resolve this, Hawke? You know I cannot leave without the Tome-“

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed behind them and Talyn turned to see Isabela stride into the throne room, a heavy book in her grasp.

“Sorry I’m late. Maker, it took me forever to get through all the fighting.”

“Isabela, I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“Neither did I,” the pirate frowned at Talyn. “I blame this disgusting ‘responsible’ streak I’ve grown on you.” Isabela stepped in front of the Arishok and set his precious book in his hands. “I think you’ll find it, mostly, undamaged.”

He looked down at it, hands passing reverently over the cover, before passing it to a nearby Qunari. “I have what I came for so I may return to Par Vollen… with the thief.”

Talyn heard Aveline object, and Isabela too. For a moment she considered his statement. If she gave him the woman, he’d leave and there would be no more fighting. But as light glinted off the edge of his massive double-blades, Talyn knew she wouldn’t agree.

Just the thought of those razor sharp ends cutting deep managed to bring a wave of gooseflesh to her skin. Her heart beat harder and for the first time in almost two years, she _felt_ something. It had been so long, she didn’t know if it was fear or dread or even joy, but it was anticipation and she clung to it with selfish abandon.

“No. You cannot have her.”

“Then you will duel me. If you die, I take her and go. If I die, she stays and my people will return the Tome to Par Vollen.”

“I accept your terms.”

“No, if anyone is going to duel you, it’ll be me.” Isabela cut Talyn a scathing look.

“You are not _basalit-an_. There is no honor in fighting you, _bas_. You are a thing, unworthy even to give notice.”

“This is madness!” Anders’ voice was frantic, angry.

Talyn shut out everything. She backed away from the Arishok, watching him, waiting. He didn’t keep her in suspense, roaring loud and running at her full bore. She didn’t feint, didn’t move, just stood there and let him come. And when he buried both his blades deep in her body, she sighed as the horrible, agony ripped through her.

He lifted her above him and she was dizzy as sentiment poured out as quickly as blood. She watched the look of satisfaction crease the corners of Arishok’s black eyes and taut mouth. Sorrow, desire, guilt, they emptied from her, but as he threw her away from him, as her body crashed into a wall, she realized that beneath all those emotions was an endless well of rage.

And wrath was what shot her too her feet, uncaring of the terrible wound in her belly, and energized her body to attack. She slashed at him, cut him, slipped around his massive form to stab deep and repeatedly between his ribs and along his belly. She stained his grey skin with real, black-crimson, not some dye.

He’d landed one blow, but Talyn connected with dozens, shallow cuts to seep and sting, deep gashes to weaken and stagger. Rage rode her hard, and she in turn pounced relentlessly, pressed every advantage, made the Qunari pay for every hurt ever inflicted on her body or mind, every cruel twist of the Maker or fate that had taken from Talyn more than she’d ever wanted to give.

When he finally collapsed against the stairs, arm raised in one last threat, promising his kind would return, Talyn shook with unspent fury and bellowed at his corpse. She wasn’t done yet, she didn’t want to stop feeling again, he needed to get up and continue to fight.

“It’s over, Talyn.” Anders voice was close to her and she felt the warmth as his magic poured into her, healing her wounds.

“No.” She pushed him away, tearing at her armor, but it was too late. The large holes the Qunari had left in her stomach were closed, not completely healed, but the thick, pale-red scars were all that remained. “No!”

She whirled on the mage, only to find Meredith behind her. And just like that, every sensation went away, cold only cold and inhuman calm taking over.

“It seems Kirkwall has a new Champion.” The woman’s face was as emotionless as Talyn. Her eyes were dead but for the tiniest flicker of anger, warped by disgust.

“Thank you, Knight-Commander.” Hawke gave a small bow as the gathered nobles sent up a cheer. She stayed only long enough to collect her reward before heading back to the estate. The accolades of the ton meant little when one felt nothing.

* * *

Champion of Kirkwall, that’s what people called Talyn as she moved through the Hightown market. She nodded in acknowledgement, out of ingrained rules of decorum and not because she actually cared or was honored. No, after fighting the Arishok she’d slipped back toward the woman she’d been.

Talyn recognized the fight had done her some good. She could feel, faintly, as one felt the heat of a dish through a thick cloth. There, but not enough to burn or even wince at when sensed. Still, she was better, but not right. 

As she headed toward Fenris’ mansion, she wondered what the elf could possibly want from her. Being with him was the closest she came to emotion, everything hidden seemed to rise up and pound against the gates holding it back. It was why she’d carefully avoided him for most of the past three years. 

Oh, she’d stopped by to check on him, had even taught him to read. But she made sure they never touched, and she never stayed too long. Varric said the elf considered her his friend, but Talyn never commented. She didn’t know what to call Fenris, beyond love, hope, enemy, poison. None of those were fit to share, though.

She passed Aveline as she went inside, the other woman frowning. “Good luck, Hawke. I’ve had my fill today.”

“Fenris? You asked to see me?”

“ _Venhedis! Fasta vass!_ ”

“Would you prefer if I came back later?” She felt a pinch in her chest, but her tone remained calm, her face impassive.

“No. It’s- it’s my sister. I managed to find her. It’s as Hadriana said, she isn’t a slave. She’s a tailor, in fact. Once I determined she was who Hadriana claimed, I sent her a letter.”

“And?”

“She didn’t believe me at first, but I finally managed to convince her. I sent her coin to come here.”

“So she’s in Kirkwall.”

“Yes, at the Hanged Man, for the next week at least.” He stopped his pacing and turned to her. “Come with me, Hawke. I need someone there who will fight to back me up.”

Talyn shifted on the balls of her feet, turning her body slightly away from him. “I thought you said there was no point in meeting her.”

“I can’t simply leave it like this! I have to know.” He paused and it was his turn to move away from her. “I know you owe me nothing, Hawke, but I’m asking. Please.”

“Of course, Fenris. When do you want to go?”

“Today if possible. Now. I can’t stand the waiting. If this is a trap, I’d spring it sooner rather than later.”

Talyn nodded. “Agreed. I’ll contact Aveline and Merrill and we’ll meet you there.”

She watched Fenris scowl at the mention of the other elf, but she didn’t bother saying anything. Instead, she left his house and headed to the Viscount’s Keep.

It was early afternoon by the time the guard-captain could get away. With Merrill in tow, Talyn and Aveline found Fenris pacing near the entrance to the Lowtown tavern.

“There you are, finally.” His body seemed to vibrate with tension.

“Important as you are, Fenris, I have other duties that need tended. I came as fast as I could.”

Contrite, the elf dropped his head. “I apologize, Aveline.”

“It’s alright. Are you ready?”

He nodded and opened the door. As the four of them stepped into the darker, cooler interior, Talyn felt foreign magic shiver against her skin.

Fenris’ attention, however, was focused on an elf woman seated alone. “Varania?”

“It really is you.”

“I… I remember you. We used to play in our master’s garden while mother worked. You called me-”

The woman rose from her seat. “Leto. That’s your name.”

The hair on Talyn’s body lifted and she glanced at Merrill. The blood mage felt the same thing. “Fenris, it’s a trap.”

“A my little Fenris. Predictable as always.”

“Danarius.”

“I’m sorry it came to this, Leto.” Varania moved behind the magister, her face downturned, looking at the floor.

Fenris spoke, but Talyn didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him over the rush of blood in her ears and the pounding in her chest. As she looked at the man, no the creature, who had created Fenris, had broken him so profoundly the elf had only been able to give in kind to Talyn herself, she was overcome with rage, even more potent than what she’d felt when she’d faced the Qunari leader.

Her muscles tightened as she watched him, realized he was speaking to her, and in that moment she struck. She leapt at him with a frenzy of speed and motion not even the Maker could have forestalled. Burying her daggers in his chest, she screamed as she tore him open, filleted his chest wall like a master butcher. Hot blood sprayed her in the face, and she laughed, maniacal, insane as she threw the blades away and plunged both fists into the gaping cavity she created.

“I can rip out hearts too. I will take yours – for him, from him!”

She didn’t just pull Danarius’ still beating organ from his body. She carved it out with her nails, fingers digging deep, crushing the vile thing in her hold as she rent it from its mooring. His body fell at her feet and she spat on it. Every muscle in her shook as she spun to face her companions, their horrified looks only thrilling her, and lifted the heart so they could all see, clearly, as she split it in two and let the halves roll from her hands, onto the floor.

“It is over. You are free. I am done.” 

She left them there, body quaking, breath ragged, and walked out. 

Talyn didn’t remember returning to the mansion, but once there she stripped her clothes and bathed, the entire time nearly high on emotion. She should have been disgusted by her ferocity, instead she was darkly satisfied, both in that she’d ended Danarius’ life and because she’d stolen his death from Fenris. But even as she sat in the cooling water, the fury that loosed sensation faded and Talyn sighed quietly.

Aveline arrived after dinner, her eyes clouded with worry, her mouth drawn taut.

“Fenris wants to see you. Talyn, about today, I-“

“I’m sorry, Aveline. I was overcome. I couldn’t listen to another word.”

“I’ve never seen blood rage like that before, Talyn. I know none of us have pressed, and none of us will, but as your friend, please, let me help you.”

Hawke sighed. “There’s nothing you can do, Aveline. Maker knows I wish there was. But thank you, for caring. I’ll go see Fenris soon, but not today.”

“Alright. I’m going to the barracks. I’m here, if you need me.”

With that the guard-captain left and Talyn retired for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after looking it over, I realized I could actually combine the last few chapters! So, there are only three more until the end. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read. I really appreciate it!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of things we cannot control

Looking at him, hating him, loving him, Hawke stood silent on the landing outside his room, unable to emote even a sigh. She was empty, she felt broken, yet still, here she was, a glutton for punishment it seemed. It had been a week since the Hanged Man, long enough that to wait further would suggest things Talyn didn’t want inferred.

She longed to simply leave the elf behind, to pretend now that Danarius was gone, that Fenris was gone as well, but she knew she couldn’t. Even though he had broken something in her so deeply she thought it would never mend, she couldn’t, would not, punish him for being who he was. She loved him unconditionally, regardless of the fact he refused to do the same.

After Aveline’s visit, and her world had turned grey again, Hawke had been on the verge of truly giving in. She’d bled herself several times, but instead of the release she normally found, all she’d felt was the pain of each wound. Not knowing what it meant, Talyn had cleaned herself up and fallen into a deep sleep.

When morning arrived, there was something building inside that hadn’t been there before, and with each day it had grown, more than the day before. She didn’t know what it was, but instead of pretending it wasn’t there, Hawke faced it. Looked at it, and at herself, and as the days passed, she’d allowed herself to think about Fenris, about what happened between them, about love and letting people in. She thought about Varric, with whom she’d once been so close, but in the last years had barely seen. 

She thought about Anders, and Justice, about Merrill and Aveline and slowly, Talyn began to take responsibility for choices she made. She stopped blaming Fenris, for though he provided the impetus, he was not the cause. Not in truth. The torment of the last three years had been of her own making, a way to hide, to prove what she’d always believed of herself, that she wasn’t worthy of anything and being left utterly alone was exactly what she deserved.

Once she’d accepted that, stopped running from her own fears more than anything else, she could understand what she’d done. Talyn had given Fenris more than her heart, that long past night. She’d given him her soul. And she’d been torn asunder by the clash of joy and unmitigated agony her choice had wrought. She’d lost the ability to accept her feelings, but not the facility to understand, to learn, to live.

With Danarius’ death, everything came full circle. Talyn Hawke had finally loved another, and that love hadn’t been a burden, no, in the end the deep, powerful emotion had protected him, saved him, given Fenris back the life the magisters had stolen so long ago. Fenris no longer had to run. Danarius was dead and with it, the last link of Tevinter’s chains. The only things caging the elf now were shackles he had forged himself.

When Fenris had walked out on her, she’d become as close to Tranquil as a mage could without suffering the rite. She’d withdrawn inside farther, deeper, than even Talyn thought possible. And though she wanted to feel again, she also knew the immensity of what lived inside would kill her before she ever managed to break down the walls holding it back. 

She couldn’t cry, couldn’t be touched, she was ice and stone. But even in her regret, she was grateful to Fenris. She wouldn’t have survived her Mother’s death if not for his rejection. She wouldn’t have remained steadfast in the face of the Arishok, wouldn’t have accepted his challenge of duel or been able to look upon the proud male as his lifeblood drained away. 

Remote, detached, emotions buried so deep no one could see them. Oh, Talyn felt, she finally realized that. She felt so much she was choking to death on the ocean of feelings writhing inside her. But she’d built her protections too strong, too capable of withstanding anything, because no feeling could possibly affect her more profoundly than the ex-slave had when he’d turned from her. Still, Varric had been right, all those years ago. She was better for loving Fenris, regardless of what anyone else believed.

Her love for him had given her métier, even as it had left her a shadow of herself, and it was because of that she stood outside his suite, listening to Varric and Aveline tell him to embrace his freedom and find his future. As usual, he made no clear choice, and her friends grumbled as they left, both pausing, wanting to touch her, she knew. She held her hands close to her sides, inclining her head and thanking them the only way she could.

Face blank, as it had been for years now, Hawke chose to keep her visit brief, safer for both of them.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum._ ” He cursed the words as she drew near.

“Still so angry, Fenris. I thought you’d be dancing a jig.” Her voice was neutral, no hint that behind her placid façade, she suffered just to be near him. 

“It means ‘you will be the death of me’.”

She knew what it meant, though apparently Varric could keep his mouth shut and hadn’t spoken, at least to the elf, about her learning the language of the Imperium. _Seems fair, since you already killed me._ Talyn said nothing, merely sat in a nearby chair.

“Six years ago, I decided to stay with you. In part because I owed you, but also because I thought you could help me. And you did. Hadriana is dead, Danarius is dead, and I am finally free. But none of it feels like it should.”

“And what should it feel like, Fenris? Do you think it would feel ‘right’ if it had been your hand, and not mine, that ripped Danarius still-beating heart from his chest? I would do it again, given the chance.” Again, no inflection, no emotion.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. I needed to take vengeance from you and I am satisfied by the doing. So if you’ve called me here to spit on me, or rage about the injustice of it, I think I’ll go. I haven’t the energy to entertain a tantrum.”

She started to rise and his hand whipped out to stop her. She jerked back before his flesh connected with hers, eyes going wide. A shiver of… something flashed through her body. “Don’t touch me, Fenris.”

He dropped his arm, something like pain bursting in his beautiful eyes. “Please, sit. I apologize, I shouldn’t lash out at you.”

Talyn returned to her seat, folding her hands in her lap. Calm, controlled.

“And no, I don’t think this would feel better if I had killed Danarius. It’s just… this freedom tastes like ash.”

He looked so lost and Hawke couldn’t bear it. She exhaled softly. “You have been free since you walked away from the Fog Warrior camp and made your first choice not to obey. Everything else has been survival or revenge.”

“What do I do now, Hawke? I thought finding my sister would open up a new world, but it didn’t. My past is lost to me. I don’t know where to go from here.”

She shifted in the chair. “We aren’t exactly friends, Fenris. Why are you asking me?”

“I know things haven’t been easy between us, but I respect you, Hawke. I trust you. I want to know what you think I should do.”

She looked down at her hands. “Start anew. Make your own future, Fenris. Be free, finally, be free and choose you own path without looking back.”

“I suppose you’re right. There is no one left to blame. This hate, this poison that I continue to swallow… I have done this to myself.”

“I know it’s difficult to believe, but you don’t have to find your way alone. There are people in your life who care about you, who would be glad to help shoulder your burdens.”

“Are there?”

She lifted her gaze to his. “Do you think Aveline would allow someone she loathed to continue to squat in the broken down squalor of this home? Would Varric go out of his way to get contracts for you if he thought you so worthless? We both know Isabela wouldn’t be caught dead here if she didn’t care about your welfare, hidden beneath her endless innuendo, of course. Even Sebastian wants you to be happy and healthy, you must know this, as often as he tries to get you to the Chantry, as many times as he’s offered to listen to you speak about your past, to help you deal with the atrocities you suffered at Danarius’ hands.”

“And you, Hawke? Would you share my burdens?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, _no, no, no, I will not_ feel _this_. She watched, almost outside herself, as her fingers clenched so tightly the knuckles turned white. “If it would ease you.” Her voice remained a flat, bland thing.

She looked away from him then. The fire danced, happy orange fingers leaping to flicker against the stone, and the moment stretched between them.

“We haven’t spoken about what happened three years ago.”

“You didn’t want to and I couldn’t ask. But that’s in the past, Fenris. We should leave it there.”

“No. No, damn it. I was a fool, am always such a fool when it comes to you. I thought… I was certain it was better if you hated me. Better if you wanted never to see me again, than it would be to have your pity. I couldn’t, I was overwhelmed, not just by the memories, but by what I felt. I was a coward, Hawke. If I could, I would go back, change it, tell you all the things that crowded my throat and made my heart feel as if it would explode from my chest.”

“Stop. Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Every day since that night has been an agony. Watching you fall into yourself, wanting nothing more than to hear your voice slap at me with anger, whip me with a venomous sting. I have cursed myself a thousand times, gone to your door to beg your forgiveness, but I was too afraid, too gutless to cross the threshold.”

He came to her, fell to his knees before her, shoving the sleeve of her tunic to her elbow, revealing years of scars. “I have felt every one of these and torn myself apart for them. I’ve been sick, seeing them multiply, knowing it was me who pushed you to do it.” He tore open his shirt, showing a myriad of deep scars, jagged, ugly, marring every inch of skin not branded with lyrium. “But still, I was too afraid to tell you, to beg you to forgive me.”

Something snapped in her and she shoved him away, leaping from the chair, overturning it in her haste. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.” _If you touch me again, I will fragment into a thousand pieces and disappear on a gust of breath._

He grabbed her wrist, gripping tight as she struggled to pull free. “I touched you once, and the memory of that night is burned into my flesh as irrevocably as the lyrium that lines my skin.”

She jerked hard, stumbling back, free of his hold, but never free of him. “Stop talking, Fenris.” Her words came breathless and she pressed a hand to her chest, something shredding, flying apart beneath her breast.

He came toward her on hands and knees, but there was no supplication in his gaze. Determination lit his green eyes from within and she backed up another step.

“Do not run.”

“Why not?” She screamed the words, harsh and loud, the sound tearing from her throat. The first fracture, a tiny fissure, gave way. 

She slapped a palm over her mouth, aghast at herself. She would not do this again. She’d already given him everything, her trust, her love, her soul. She wanted none of them back. But she would not survive watching him walk away again. Better they stayed whatever they were, her knowing she would be alone, but he would be whole and free, than to go back to the place she’d been in after he’d left.

“There is nothing I dread more than the thought of living without you.” 

“Then why did you _leave_ me! You think you can speak to me of **agony**! You know NOTHING of agony.” 

She whirled from him, hands going to her face, a second fracture, a third, and the hardened mask she’d built so she could wake each morning, keep moving forward, shattered like clay under the deluge of some many years of trapped pain, washing down her face in a flood. 

“I let you inside me, Fenris! I let you in and gave you the one thing I thought was lost to me. And you broke me! You broke me and you walked away, wearing my favor and my crest, as if that were ENOUGH!” She fell to her knees, body shaking so hard her teeth clacked together, so many years of grief, rage, mind-tearing misery poured from every cell of her body. “Everything, I have lost everything I ever cared for, but none of those losses, none of them ripped my soul from its moorings. None of them but you.”

Talyn sobbed and sobbed, the sounds coming from her like those of a wounded animal. To hear him say those things, as if words could mend the gaping lesion he’d left in her. She turned to face him, gaze searching his, seeing the streams of silver on his face and she let loose another howl. 

“I HATE YOU! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You made me feel like a piece of trash, made me feel a monster for being born a mage, but I endured because I knew suffering, I saw it in you as clearly as I did in my mirror every day. But you started to heal, stopped snarling and snapping at everyone and everything and I grew to trust you. Before I even realized, you became a part of me, as necessary as blood and bone and sinew. I begged you to leave me be, but you kept coming, kept pushing, and when I couldn’t stand beneath the weight of your need and my own, when I finally opened up to you, you turned away from me!

“Do you think I wasn’t petrified? When I felt you, inside me, so deep inside me I didn’t know where I ended and you began, I knew then what you meant to me. I wanted to run away, but I knew you’d fought just as many demons as I had to be there with me. So I chose to try, to be vulnerable, for you, to you!

“I have loved you, I still love you, so much I would die without you. I’ve felt half-dead for three years, but when I saw Danarius today, I knew I couldn’t give you up. _You_ are a poison in my heart, yet I seek no cure. Because in that pain, there is so much joy, the Maker himself must turn His face from the light. I know what it is to love, with all I am, with every fiber of my being.”

Struggling to her feet, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, not bothering to dry her face, the tears still flowing in thick rivulets down her cheeks, dripping from her chin. She gave him her back once more. “I am not the woman I was, Fenris, and even knowing this regret, I love you for that too.” 

“No, wait!” His voice broke, but she refused to relent. “Hawke, wait!”

She walked slowly from the room, vision so blurred she could barely make out her steps. She tripped, cleared the final stair, and staggered into the wall as another wave of weeping shook her frame, when she heard the thundering of his feet.

“Talyn, stop running from me!”

And then he was there, his arms wrapped so tightly around her she thought he’d crush her ribs. His own body heaved with shuddered breaths, his voice thick when he spoke close to her ear. “I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. Please, Talyn, please forgive me now.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, praying with all she had for the strength to take the leap into the abyss. “Why, Fenris, why?”

“I was weak, a coward. Instead of facing my fear, I ran as fast as I could. But thinking you hated me, it wasn’t better.”

She opened her mouth against his shoulder, her cries, the broken hiccups of her breath spilling onto his skin. “Tell me, Fenris. Please, tell me.”

Suddenly his hands were in her hair, gripping, pulling her face up gently to meet his. Her eyes, burning, swollen from crying, blinked open to search his face.

“I love you. I love you in a way words cannot describe. You are everything to me and I would gladly tear out my own heart if it might give you some supinity. There is no light without you, no joy, no magic. I cannot lose you again, I will not. Please, Talyn, I beg you, forgive me. I want a future. I want a future with you.”

She brought her hands to his face. “I don’t think I have the strength, Fenris.”

“Then take mine, take all of me. If I have your soul, then take mine! Please, please, I beg you.” Her warrior, ever stoic, so stern, his voice broke on harsh sobs. “ _Halitus meus es tu._ ”

_You are my breath._

He pushed against her hold, burying his face in her hair, mouth close to her ear. 

“ _Tu es sanctificatio mea._ "

_You are my sanctuary._

“ _Quaeso, ne derelinquas me in obscuris._ ”

_I beg of you, do not leave me in darkness._

He turned his face toward her, his lips sliding over hers. She opened to him, her magic rising up inside, lifting and stretching toward the other half of her soul, and Fenris began to glow.

Like the rush of water, her power flowed over him and his poured into her. It filled her up, from the bottom, the very essence of Fenris rolling down her throat, blowing away the ragged edges of despair, filling up the emptiness, until she overflowed with light. His love, so longed for, so needed, no longer hidden behind fear and cowardice, it sought out all the dark corners in her mind, it found the remnants of her tattered heart, and she began to heal.

Her mouth was slick against his, her tongue filling his mouth, as she accepted him, and like that night three years ago, she opened herself fully, mage, rogue, woman, and gave him what he pleaded for, what she knew they both needed. She forgave him, and curling her fingers tightly in his soft, luxurious hair, Talyn decanted the light inside of her into him. 

He shook in her arms, lyrium brands glowing so bright she had to close her eyes, and she swore he’d never know darkness again. Slowly, reluctantly, she parted their mouths, opening her eyes, waiting for his to blink wide as well.

The glow of the tattoos faded and his large, olive eyes drifted open.

“ _Et ego ero vobis in lucem._ ” Talyn whispered the words against his mouth, her gaze locked with his.

His eyes shimmered with emotion. “Forever, Talyn. You are my light until the world stops.”


End file.
